Silk Stockings
by highlandgypsy
Summary: Between the missions and non-stop black market dealing, Larry Casey already had more than he'd bargained for when he signed on with the Black Sheep. He didn't need an outspoken – and attractive – Navy nurse complicating things. Chasing skirts was fine for the other guys but his high school sweetheart would be waiting for him at the altar when he got home.
1. Chapter 1

Here I go again. After using them in supporting roles through "Front Page News," "Autumn 1945" and "Scotch And Fire," I decided Larry Casey and Dee Ryan deserved their own story. This one is set in the early days of the Black Sheep, shortly after the squadron was formed.

I am not a nurse. I have no medical training (other than a few random ER visits for self-inflicted stupidity) and since I never intended these stories to reflect Ph.D. thesis-level research, please be so kind as to overlook any technical errors and just roll with it. I am not a pilot or an expert on anything military or World War II - just a fan of the Black Sheep who enjoys creating the stories of the girls who were part of their world.

 **XXX**

Between the missions and non-stop black market dealing, Larry Casey already had more than he'd bargained for when he signed on with the Black Sheep. He didn't need an outspoken – and attractive – Navy nurse complicating things. Chasing skirts was fine for the other guys but his high school sweetheart would be waiting for him at the altar when he got home.

 **Chapter 1 – In the beginning**

 **1943**

 **Somewhere off the coast of Bougainville**

 _"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord -"_

Lieutenant Larry Casey wasn't a terribly religious guy but the words of the Apostle's Creed flashed unbidden through his mind, along with scenes from the first 21 years of his life.

He'd been raised Lutheran and like so many, had drifted away from the church before the ink was dry on his confirmation certificate. Now, however, seemed like a really good time for him to get reacquainted with the Man Upstairs, preferably before he met Him on terms that were not his own. The odds of that seemed to be increasing by the minute. He was already upstairs so at least he wouldn't have far to go.

Casey thought this had been a good idea when it started. Such a simple notion, little more than an exchange of paperwork. What could go wrong with that?

After all, he hadn't thought he had any business processing dispositions of court martial for the entire Southwest Pacific theater and Major Greg Boyington had been happy to take them off his hands. Casey had gotten a stack of supply forms in exchange and thought he was much more qualified to handle those.

Somewhere along the line it had turned into a completely hair-brained scheme that was going to get him killed. How had he let Greg talk him into this? Yeah, he was a fighter pilot and yeah, he wanted to fly with a real combat squadron, but this was insanity. This screwball collection of Marine Corps rejects was no more combat ready than his aunt Mabel.

The silver white wings of a Japanese Zero caught the sun as they flashed by his more powerful, but slower, Vought F4U Corsair, separating him further from the rest of the squadron. As he looked up through his canopy and saw the first Zero start to climb, Casey felt a rash of 20 mm rounds bite into his plane's starboard wing, puncturing metal with brutal efficiency. Damnit, now a second enemy plane was chewing on him.

He rolled in a desperate attempt to get away but the Zeke stuck on him. He was a skilled enough pilot and had held his own for most of the air battle over the Japanese-held airstrip at Bougainville but collateral damage was starting to take a toll on his bird. He had no doubt if this pair of pilots cat and moused him much longer, he'd be going swimming. Beneath him, the dark green waters of the Solomon Slot sparkled in the morning sunlight. He wondered if he ought to start climbing for altitude now, so when the inevitable happened, he'd be high enough to bail. If he even got a chance to bail.

 _" . . was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into Hell. On the third day He rose again from the dead . . ."_

He had no idea where his wingman was. He barely knew _who_ his wingman was. He'd only flown with Jerry Bragg a couple of times in training and once on a simple patrol, not a real mission. No one had been trying to kill them then.

That had all changed in a hurry when Greg launched this eight ball idea to prove a point to Colonel Lard. Lard wasn't going to give the 214 any missions because he had it in for Greg. So Greg had created his own mission, just like he'd created his own squadron. The man firmly believed if you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.

Casey knew the major was no fool. He'd been flying for General Claire Chennault and the American Volunteer Group in China while Casey was still back home, coaxing his high school sweetheart into giving up her virginity. Greg knew exactly what he was doing, although Casey thought he might have over-estimated the squadron's combat ready status just a little bit.

They'd lured the Japanese fighters up by masquerading as a bomber wing. It had worked just fine. Casey had flamed two Zeroes in the early stages of the dog fight, blasting one just as the pilot had Don French level in his sights, then sending another diving in a trail of fatal smoke. Casey had been trying to draw the pressure off TJ Wiley – hoping to keep the kid alive long enough that Jim Gutterman didn't have to find a new wingman so soon – when these two had neatly cut him out and began their deadly game.

 _" . . .the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. Amen."_

He juked hard to right but the Zero clung stubbornly and Casey heard the now familiar thwack-thwack-thwack of lead stitching into metal. A glance down at his gauges told him the only thing he had going for him was his fuel level. Temp and oil pressure were running high and low, respectively. If he could just limp back to Vella La Cava now, without anyone trying to put more holes in him, he might be able to set his bird down in one piece. The odds of that weren't looking good. If he got the chance to bail out and if the drop into the ocean didn't kill him, he might still end up as shark bait.

He wondered what Iris would say when they told her.

Static crackled in his headset.

"Hey Lawrence, are you in need of assistance?" It was Bob Anderson's casually formal voice.

Casey sagged with relief and keyed his throat mike. "If you boys don't already have a full dance card, that sure would be fine."

"Son of a bitch, Wiley, get out of the way. He don't need anyone else shooting at him!" Casey recognized Jim's trademark snarl.

"On my mark, Casey, break left," Greg's voice was cool. "Three, two, one, now!"

Casey banked his plane over hard to port. He could hear the pounding of the two approaching Corsairs' 50 mm guns as they dove on the Japanese pilots. He circled his damaged aircraft out of the way, watching as one of the Zekes spiraled toward the water, then disappeared amidst a plume of foam. The second exploded mid-air and he watched the pursuing American plane's wings cut through the fireball as it burst into the clear.

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you Jim?" Greg said drily.

"Got a little cooked but I'm fine," Jim replied. "I ain't on fire, am I?"

"The rest of 'em have turned tail," Anderson reported. "Looks like they had enough."

"Thanks, guys!" Casey's relief was palpable. He might live through this day after all.

"Form up on me, we're headed home," Greg ordered. "Let's hear a damage report."

One by one, the Black Sheep called out their kills as well as their birds' flight status. Several of the planes, including Casey's, were in questionable shape but the pilots had tallied 18 air victories in their second engagement as a squadron. The teamwork Casey had questioned had risen to the occasion. Maybe the whole really was better than the sum of the parts. This would make Lard sit up and take notice, although he wasn't convinced that was really a good thing.

So _this_ was what it felt like to fly with a real combat squadron, he thought as he nursed his plane back to the base. The gauges were slipping into red-line as he set it down on Vella La Cava's packed dirt airstrip. Now if he could just stay alive long enough to enjoy it, that would be a bonus.

 **XXX**

 **Several weeks later**

 **Espritos Marcos, Allied Command Rear Area**

U.S. Navy Nursing Corps Lieutenant Dee Ryan lay on her bunk in the nurses' barracks, a forearm flung over her face, and wondered why she hadn't done something sensible like get married right out of high school. Lots of her classmates had. Get married and get pregnant. That would have been sensible. She could have at least three kids by now and her biggest problem would be having enough clean diapers to go around and putting dinner on the table for her husband when he came home from the office. She liked babies well enough. It wouldn't have been a bad choice.

She stared at the orders laying on her nightstand. Orders sending her someplace she'd never heard of. Again. This was not sensible.

She didn't regret choosing a career in nursing but the recent turn it had taken made her question why she had ever decided to join the Navy. Her grandfather had served in World War I and after an influenza outbreak claimed both of Dee's parents while she was in nursing school, it seemed like a loyal, patriotic choice. Her family was gone. What else was she going to do? That was before Pearl Harbor. Pearl had changed everything and her dreams of serving in a quiet hospital on a stateside base, then moving into a private practice, flew right out the window.

She'd welcomed the transfer to the South Pacific a month ago. It got her out of London and she was just fine with that. She'd had enough of Hitler's bombs falling on her head. Espritos Marcos in the Solomons chain was nice enough for a backwater rear area. Not much happened here, at least in terms of being routinely bombed. She could focus on her job, which she really did love. She was a good nurse and she knew it.

Plus, Espritos was relatively civilized, at least for this corner of the war. The officers' club was lovely, the food was good, the accommodations were comfortable. The beach was a delight and there was even a small movie theater. The movies were six months out of date by the time they got here but it had been that way in the small town where she grew up so she was used to it.

Now she'd been transferred again. This time she was headed to a hospital on some little front area island she'd never heard of. Vella La Something. Some place that got attacked routinely by the Japanese.

Just great. She rolled onto her stomach and wrapped her arms around her pillow.

No wonder they were looking for nurses who were willing to commit to serving there for the long haul, not the usual six-week in-and-out rotation. The promotion they'd dangled in front of her should have made her think twice but she'd jumped at the chance for lieutenant's bars. Now hindsight had her wondering if she'd just leaped out of the frying pan into a bomb crater.

Vella La Whatever was directly in the Empire of Japan's gun sights. She doubted there would be much in the line of linen tablecloths or dancing at the officers' club. She doubted they even had an officers' club. She was pretty sure they wouldn't have linen anything. Dee guessed she was all right with that. She was a North Dakota farm girl and while there was a lot to be said for creature comforts, if push came to shove she could make do without them.

The hospital she'd been reassigned to was smaller than the one on Espritos. Most of the patients were men from nearby island bases and the fighter pilots from the squadron that shared the island.

She'd heard plenty about those pilots - VMF 214, the Black Sheep. Their reputation preceded them and that was saying something, since they'd been formed for less than a month.

The new 214, anyway. The old 214 had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, something to do with a malaria scare that no one could quite pin down and once they did, it was too late because those pilots had all been reassigned. The new CO on Vella La Wherever, Major Greg Boyington, had moved his boys in and started laying waste to the Imperial Air Force within days.

Boyington was a law unto himself and even the formidable Colonel Thomas Lard was helpless to control the Black Sheep, especially since they had General Thomas Moore backing them up. She knew Colonel Lard on a professional basis. He had a wicked stomach ulcer and came to the clinic when it flared up. Funny, she'd seen him there a lot more in the last few weeks.

From what she'd heard, the only thing standing between Boyington and the court martial of him and every single man in the squadron was an impressive kill record and the intercession of General Moore. She'd met General Moore, too, and thought he was sensible enough. At least sensible enough not to take down a squadron that did what it was supposed to do, not just sit around swatting mosquitoes. The Black Sheep appeared to be very, very good at what they did.

Apparently, they were working their way through the nursing staff at the hospital on Vella La Someplace with the same single-minded efficiency. She'd talked to one of the nurses who had been rotated out from there just last week. Skirt-chasing, booze-swilling and arrogant were a few of the nicer descriptions she'd heard. And it wasn't just one or two of them Annie Franklin had assured her. It was the whole squadron, up to and including their CO. The whole lot of them were trouble.

Dee hoped the promotion was worth it.

 **XXX**

The C-47 transport landed on the Vella La Cava airstrip, disgorged its contents without fanfare and took off again, leaving Dee standing alone amidst the mud puddles. A hot breeze teased at her hair, pulling tendrils from the carefully pinned twist at the back of her neck. She absently pushed the loose hair behind one ear and looked around. She hadn't expected a welcoming committee, which was good, since she obviously wasn't going to get one. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and started walking toward the collection of tents and ramshackle buildings that constituted the fighter base.

She knew the hospital was on the other end of the island and hoped she wasn't expected to hoof it the entire way there, especially in a skirt and pumps. Apparently no one from the hospital was expecting her. Or maybe they were, but expected her to get to the facility without anyone coming to fetch her. She sighed and adjusted her bag. She'd always been the self-reliant type and since joining the Navy, it had become second nature. She'd been posted as both a triage and surgical nurse at St. Thomas Hospital in London and after dealing with Hitler's handiwork for more than a year, Dee had developed a rather cavalier attitude toward the lesser inconveniences of life.

Things could be worse than a walk on a sunny afternoon. And she might be young but she wasn't stupid. Nice legs and big brown eyes could get you almost anywhere you wanted to go on a base full of flyboys. If half the things she'd heard about the Black Sheep were true, she was confident she wouldn't have to walk very far before one of the men who called the base home would offer her a ride.

She studied the olive drab canvas tents strung along the muddy central track. She'd already passed the flight line with its collection of battered Corsairs, the favored warbirds of the theatre. The thumping and yelling that echoed back and forth indicated mechanics hard at work. Just ahead, a low pitched building with palm fronds thatching the roof seemed a likely place to find someone who would give her a ride. A sign on the front of the building read "The Sheep Pen."

 _The Sheep Pen?_

She was still contemplating this when the door to the building opened and three officers stepped out, deep in conversation. Two of the men were tall and lean, the third one shorter with a hard, muscled build. The latter was saying, "What Lard doesn't know won't hurt him. As long as we keep making him look good, he'll stay off our case. In the meantime - "

All three of them noticed her at once and stopped. Target acquired. Dee rolled her eyes mentally. Pilots were all the same. Europe. The Pacific. It didn't matter. She prepared to offer just enough flirt to get a ride but not so much they thought she was actually interested. She didn't know any of them well enough to know if she was interested. She liked men as much as the next girl, possibly more, but she wasn't about to give them any ideas. Pilots tended to have enough ideas already.

As they approached, she realized with a little jolt there wasn't a bad looking one in the bunch. Two with dark hair and a tow-head. All three were smiling. She recognized the look – the self-assured smugness of men who are used to having women find them irresistible. At least the dark-haired ones looked that way. The light-haired boy just looked perfectly friendly, which probably meant he was the one to watch out for, she thought.

Her mind was processing this when the wail of an air raid siren shattered the tropical afternoon. Dee froze. She hadn't heard an air raid siren since leaving London three months ago. Since then, she'd managed to put them, and the nightmare horrors that accompanied them, out of her mind. The drone of incoming aircraft followed. She looked up and could make out two, no, four, dark images coming in fast against the clear blue sky.

The trio of men bolted toward her, then past.

"Come on! This way!" the light haired boy yelled. He grabbed her elbow without slowing. Not having much choice, she dropped her bag and stumbled after him. Ahead, the first two men leaped into a foxhole without breaking stride. There was something about the efficiency of their movements that made Dee think they'd had a lot of practice. She gathered herself as the boy holding her arm followed suit and they both leaped into thin air. She landed with an ungraceful thud at the bottom of the foxhole as the first enemy plane came into view.

"Get down!" someone yelled unnecessarily. The guy who'd grabbed her elbow – he still hadn't let go, she noticed – wrapped his arms around her and pulled her solidly against him. She was about to protest this sudden familiarity when two planes came in side by side, laying down a rain of hot lead.

The impact of the rounds sent dirt and pebbles spraying into the foxhole, stinging the exposed skin on her arms. Dee felt her stomach clench. Above them, she heard the sharp twang of ammunition chewing through wood and metal. A second duo of planes swept over the camp in a low strafing run.

This was not what I signed up for, she thought as the arms of her protector tightened and she pressed her face against his chest. She'd given up pride a long time ago and the arms around her gave at least the illusion of protection. She'd survived the Blitz, sometimes in an underground tube station, sometimes above ground on a hospital ward, her choice to stay with patients who couldn't be moved. She was a firm believer in any port in a storm.

Something very solid landed with a resounding thump on her legs and Dee let out an unladylike _ooof!_ She pulled her head back far enough to see a white bull terrier smiling at her as it crawled into her lap.

"Meatball! You damned fool!" one of the men swore. "Get off of her!"

"It's all right," Dee started to say, but was cut short as the planes came around for another pass. She wrapped an arm around the dog and pulled it close. The dog buried its muzzle against her chest with obvious delight. Anti-aircraft fire rattled from one of the nearby foxholes.

And then the marauders were gone. The four of them sat in silence for a moment, the sky above them once again a serene blue. The men climbed out of the hole. When they turned to help her out, she scooped up the dog – _Meatball, who names a dog Meatball?_ \- who was heavier than he looked, and shoved him awkwardly upward. Then she grasped the proffered hands and let them pull her out in an undignified scramble that completed the ruination of her stockings.

The tow-headed boy let go of her hand and stepped back. She shoved her hat out of her face. He was her age, tall and spare, with blue-eyed good looks that could have walked off a recruiting poster. He held out his hand and smiled apologetically.

"Larry Casey. Sorry about that. I usually don't grab girls and throw them in holes before I know their name."

She shook his hand.

"Dee Ryan. Under the circumstances, I'll overlook the lapse in etiquette. It would have been bad if my first day here was my last. Thanks, Larry."

"Casey. Just Casey. No one around here calls me Larry. You're new to the hospital?"

"I took a permanent assignment here in trade for a promotion," Dee said, looking around at the ensuing chaos as personnel scrambled to do damage control. "Starting to wonder how smart that was. Do you guys get shot up like this on a regular basis?"

"Um, lately, yeah," Casey said.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" The shorter of the two dark-haired men addressed her. He had stunning blue eyes in a handsome face. His smile took in her disheveled countenance with a sweeping glance that was appreciative without being offensive. The tall officer behind him let his dark eyes walk over her like a physical touch. She wanted to slap him for it even though he was kind of cute. If these three were a representative sample, this unit appeared to be staffed with very good-looking men, she thought.

She looked down. Her clothing was streaked with dirt and her stockings were beyond repair. There were muddy paw prints on her skirt.

"I'm in one piece, I think that's what matters. If Lar – Casey – hadn't grabbed me, I might not have been so lucky."

"I'm Major Greg Boyington, these are my executive officers, Captain Jim Gutterman and you've met Casey. That's Private Meatball. Thanks for putting up with him, he has a thing for women. Welcome to Vella La Cava, Lieutenant."

Dee blinked. These were the infamous Black Sheep? Aside from the way the tall, dark and obnoxious one was still looking at her, they'd been complete gentlemen. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. Of course, she hadn't expected to be drug into a foxhole within five minutes of landing here, either. She tried not to take it personally.

Greg looked around at the base and scrubbed a hand over his face. A nearby jeep was a smoking ruin. Men were scrambling to put out a fire near the flight line. The support structure of the nearest tent had been damaged badly enough the whole thing was listing to one side. As they watched, it collapsed with elephantine grace.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Casey, find a jeep that's not on fire and take Lieutenant Ryan to the hospital before Delmonte accuses us of kidnapping another one of her girls." Dee's eyebrows shot up but the major didn't seem inclined to elaborate. "Jim, you come with me. I'm going to Espritos and have a heart-to-heart with Colonel Lard. That's the third time in two weeks those raiders have hit us. I don't want to tell Lard how to run this war but apparently somebody needs to."

Casey turned to Dee.

"Sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, really." She reached out and gripped his forearm. "But it looks like a bit of debris caught you." She stretched and swiped at blood welling from a small cut on his cheekbone. "You should clean that and – "

"Pappy!" A man's voice yelled. They turned as a group. A stout fellow in a football jersey – _a football jersey?_ \- ran up and slid to a halt. "Boyle got hit. They got him on that last pass."

"Is it serious?"

"He's bleeding bad. It won't stop."

Dee stepped forward.

"Show me where he is."

The boy noticed her for the first time, took in the nursing corps insignia on her hat. A look of relief washed over his face.

"This way, ma'am!" He took off in a sprint, covering the ground with considerable speed for someone that hefty. Dee was right behind him, followed by the others.

Two boys were huddled around a third on the ground outside a nearby tent. Dee could see the scarlet stain on his thigh. Bright crimson. Arterial blood. Shit. She went down on her knees beside him.

"Boyle caught a round on that last run. He was moving the Scotch out of the jeep into the supply tent," one of the men said.

"Scotch? Really? He got shot over a case of Scotch?" Greg gave him a disbelieving look, then shrugged. "There might be hope for him yet."

"It's the stuff we're trading with the Seabees on Rendova for the generator to trade with the Navy on New Caledonia for the beer cooler. We couldn't let it get blown up," another added helpfully.

Dee did a fast evaluation.

"A direct hit from a 20 mm round would have torn his leg apart," she said. "More like he caught a ricochet or some shrapnel when that jeep got hit." She indicated the smoking ruin of the nearby vehicle.

She realized the men were staring at her with open mouths.

"You've seen combat injuries before?" Greg asked.

"Ten months at St. Thomas' in London, before Hitler blew it up." Dee didn't look up. Using both hands, she grabbed the torn trousers and ripped the fabric open to expose the deep wound on the boy's inner thigh. Dear God. It must have nicked the femoral artery. That was the only way to explain the obscene amounts of blood. Boyle groaned.

She pointed at Casey. He looked cleaner than any of the present company.

"Give me your shirt."

He didn't hesitate but peeled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to her. She fashioned it into a quick pad, placed it over the wound and looked around.

"You, what's your name?" She pointed at the husky fellow.

"Bragg, ma'am. Jerry Bragg."

"Jerry, I need you to put direct pressure on this bandage. Use both hands."

She turned to the pilot standing nearest. Jim? "You - down here." He dropped to his knees beside her. She grabbed his hand and slapped it onto Boyle's groin. She adjusted his fingers slightly and pressed them down. "Pressure point. Keep your hand there. Don't move it. Trust me, he'll live to thank you for it later and then you can make him buy you dinner."

She unknotted her tie and yanked it off.

"I need to make a tourniquet. I'm afraid he'll bleed out before we can get to this hospital of yours. Can someone bring a – " she stopped short when a jeep pulled up, nearly running over the unfortunate Boyle's feet. Casey ran to assist the driver as he grabbed a stretcher out of the back.

"Perfect." She looked back at Greg. "Get someone on the horn to the hospital and tell them to expect a male patient, early 20s, trauma to the upper thigh, he's shocky and I don't know how much blood he's lost but he's going to need at least a couple of units."

"TJ, you're up," Greg said. "Go."

A tall, sandy-haired pilot loped off in the opposite direction.

"Lift him so I can wrap this around his leg," Dee said, brandishing her tie. "And find me something to tighten it down with."

With Jerry holding the bandage in place and Jim keeping a wary hand on the pressure point, Greg and Casey rolled Boyle onto his side. Dee slipped her tie around his leg, above the bloody hole in his trousers. A wrench appeared over her shoulder and she took it without looking back, thanking her unseen provider as she slid it into the tourniquet and tied it in place with a square knot.

"Now, lift him onto the stretcher on three – one, two, three." She looked up and shoved dark hair behind her ear. "Any of you boys oh-negative?"

Casey and Greg both nodded.

"Good. Get the stretcher on the jeep, then you're coming to the hospital with me to give blood. Jerry, Jim, you can let go now. Thank you for your help. Major?" She looked up. Greg was studying her with a kind of quiet amusement in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Drive."

She climbed into the jeep and wedged herself between the seats, holding the tourniquet tight with one hand and keeping pressure on the wound with the other. It might be overkill she thought, but it was going to look really bad if the first patient she treated died on the way to the hospital. Casey balanced backward in the front seat, stabilizing the stretcher. Greg put the jeep in gear and they took off.

If the men had found it odd to be taking orders from a woman they'd just met, none of them had said a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The girl back home**

 **Hospital**

 **Vella La Cava**

Dee pressed her shoulders against the wall in the hospital hallway and closed her eyes. He'd be okay. Fighter pilots were like cats – they came with extra lives. Dr. Jim Reese had been waiting with a team when the jeep slammed to a stop in front of the hospital. Boyle had been whisked away, Casey and Greg had disappeared to donate blood.

Now she was just standing there, holding up the wall. She listened to the creak of the ceiling fan and the beat of her own heart, wishing she had a nice single malt to settle her nerves. She looked down at her hands. They weren't shaking. They weren't clean either. The fast cold water scrub she'd done at an outside pump left a lot to be desired. Dried blood still crusted under her nails and streaked her clothes. She closed her eyes again. She might as well have stayed in London. At least there she'd been able to go underground to get away from the bombing.

"Lieutenant Ryan?" The voice made her jump. She opened her eyes. Casey was standing there. "Doc Reese says Bobby's going to make it, thanks to you. He said he'll catch up with you later and he's happy to have a someone with your skill on permanent assignment here."

Relief washed over her, both that the pilot was going to be okay and that she had the facility's chief medical officer on her side without even meeting him.

"Good." It seemed inadequate but it was all she could muster at the moment.

They stood there, awkwardly, looking at each other. He was still shirtless and she couldn't help but let her eyes drift. His chest was smooth and tan, his upper body lean, fatigues riding loose around his waist. Since he didn't seem particularly self-conscious, she figured going around half dressed was probably the norm in this heat. All the nicer for her, she mused. Being ogled by pilots worked both ways and she wasn't above admiring the local scenery, especially when it was standing right in front of her. If he noticed, he didn't seem to object. She gave herself a mental shake and re-focused.

"I guess I'd better report to Lieutenant Commander . . ." she searched her memory, sifting through the blood and adrenaline of the last hour. "Delmonte. She doesn't even know I'm here yet."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Casey said. His eyes sparkled with good humor. "Greg's already put in a good word for you. Delmonte's a real battle axe. He went a couple of rounds with her when we first moved in here and thought you might appreciate the help." He stopped, apparently thinking he'd overstepped his bounds.

"Thanks again for, you know, earlier." She smiled and he matched it. He had a lovely smile, she thought.

Casey tossed her a salute. "See you around. Come have a drink with us sometime when you get settled in. I bet you can get Boyle to buy."

"I will."

Outside, a jeep horn blared. Dee admired the lean muscle of his back as he turned and made his way down the hall.

She drew in a deep breath and thought she could have used a drink or three right now. She wondered what time it was. Oh hell, it didn't matter. She was sure it was five o'clock somewhere and if half of what she'd heard about the Black Sheep was true, they didn't let a little thing like hands on a clock face dictate happy hour. She let out her breath and stopped a passing nurse wearing a starched white uniform. The girl shrank back. Dee didn't blame her.

"Can you tell me where the Lieutenant Commander's office is?"

The girl's eyes grew wide.

"Turn left at the next corridor, last door on the right. What happened to you?"

"It's kind of a long story," Dee said, and with all the dignity she could muster, limped down the hallway.

She paused in front of the door bearing Delmonte's nameplate and took a quick inventory of her person. Her uniform hadn't improved any since the foxhole. In addition to the mud and paw prints, now there was blood smeared across her blouse and skirt. If the itchy feeling on the side of her face was any indication, she'd managed to smear it across her cheek, too. Her tie had disappeared with Boyle. Somewhere between the fighter base and the hospital, she'd lost her hat. Her knees were black, the hem of her skirt hung lopsidedly. She must have caught a heel in it at some point. She gave up and took off her pumps. One heel was wobbling so badly she was afraid she'd turn her ankle if she kept trying to walk in them. She brushed at her skirt and a fine shower of dog hair cascaded off. _This was not going to go well._ Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

"Come in!" a voice snapped.

Dee stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. The woman seated behind the desk immediately struck her as the female version of Colonel Lard. Her uniform was crisp, her dark hair styled in a formidable victory roll. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth compressed into thin-lipped disapproval when she saw Dee.

Dee shifted her pumps to her other hand, smiled brightly and saluted.

"Lieutenant Dee Ryan, reporting for duty, ma'am."

Gracefully in spite of her bulk, Delmonte rose, blinked, and stepped around her desk for a closer inspection.

"What in God's name happened to you, Lieutenant?"

"I met the Black Sheep."

That seemed like the simplest explanation and judging from the lieutenant commander's expression, it was a totally credible one.

"Yes. I see that."

She circled Dee, shaking her head in disbelief as she took in her filthy and missing clothing. Dee stood at attention, eyes forward. The clock on the wall measured the passing seconds with loud clicks.

Delmonte glanced at her watch, a bulky field timepiece almost as masculine as she was. When she finally spoke, her voice was no-nonsense. "I see you've been on this island less than an hour and you've already got Major Boyington vouching for you. Dr. Reese said that boy probably would have died if you hadn't taken over.

"I commend you for knowing your business, Ryan. I've read your file and I have no doubt you'll be an asset to this facility, but let me tell you something – don't think for a minute those boys are always going to be that easy to deal with. I tell all the new nursing personnel that the biggest problem they're likely to have here is located on that base where you just landed."

"With all due respect, ma'am, this isn't the first time I've been stationed around pilots." She paused, then couldn't help herself. "Men generally tend to work the same way no matter where they are."

"You've got a smart mouth, Lieutenant."

Delmonte glared at her and Dee bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. She could see why Major Boyington hadn't hit it off with this woman.

"Yes, ma'am. I've been told that before."

The lieutenant commander ignored her, which Dee thought was probably for the best.

"Against my better judgment I am not allowed to restrict your access to the 214 and I can't order you not to fraternize with them but I will not tolerate less than professional behavior from my girls from the moment they land here." She looked at Dee's bedraggled uniform and sniffed audibly. "I don't know what you may have heard about the Black Sheep but let me assure you, every bit of it is true. You will be held to the highest standards of conduct possible, no matter where you are on this island." She bit off the words. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dee fought to suppress the urge to say the more she was forbidden to do something, the more likely she was to do it. Now she wanted that drink more than ever and she wanted it as a guest in the Sheep Pen.

"Very well. Major Boyington was kind enough to have your gear sent over. I believe it survived the air raid in better shape than you did. I'll have one of the girls show you your quarters. You go on duty at 1600. Welcome to Vella La Cava, Lieutenant."

Dee saluted and left. She thought Casey, Greg and Jim's welcome had been considerably warmer.

 **XXX**

"She's a sweet little package," Jim mused as the men relaxed in the Sheep Pen after evening mess.

"Who?" Casey said absently, shuffling paperwork from one stack to another. The quartermaster had made a mistake and sent them four cases of double-ply toilet paper instead of the four cases of Spam he'd requisitioned, but he thought this might work to their advantage. The boys on Guadalcanal were suckers for two-ply and the guys here were sick of Spam anyway. If they could find a transport captain who would be willing to make the delivery, they could possibly work a deal to get rid of that case of island rum that nobody in their right mind would drink, too, in exchange for -

"Lieutenant Ryan." Jim interrupted his thoughts. "Classy looks, fabulous legs, nice little ass, great set of – "

"You know, Jim, some day you're gonna meet a girl who'll mean more to you than a collection of body parts," Casey said. He'd been around Gutterman long enough not to be surprised at the way the Texan evaluated women like they were fillies being run through an auction ring. He had been raised to treat members of the opposite sex with respect. Or at least keep disrespectful thoughts to himself.

Serving with this unit was eroding those inhibitions, he realized. The guys here had elevated the pursuit of nurses to an art form. Privately, Casey agreed with Jim but he wasn't going to say it out loud. Lieutenant Ryan was worth a second look and if they hadn't been trying not to get killed in that foxhole, he would have enjoyed having his arms around her a whole lot more. He was even a little jealous of Meatball, who'd buried his head in her chest and she'd just wrapped an arm around the dog and pulled him closer. Casey gave himself a mental shake. He had no business having thoughts like that.

"Naw, I doubt it. There's only one thing I need from a girl." Jim studied his beer bottle reflectively. "Maybe two," he added, grinning.

"Isn't she a little short for you?" Casey said. He filled out a requisition form for blankets. Blankets were absolutely the last thing they needed here, which meant they'd probably get them in triplicate. He figured they could trade them for something useful, like extra mosquito netting. He'd been requisitioning that for a month and hadn't seen it yet.

Jim chuckled.

"Height don't matter when you're laying down. She's too short for you, too."

"I'm not looking."

"Oh, that's right," Jim drawled. "You got a girl waiting for you at home. What's her name again? Rose? Pansy?"

"Iris," Casey said with a hint of irritation. "Iris Nielsen." It had quickly become apparent that he was the only one of the Black Sheep staying faithful to a sweetheart back in the States. While the other boys professed to having girls waiting for them, those relationships had terminated when the first jeep full of nurses arrived for the Sheep Pen's inaugural party.

Casey and Iris wrote to each other every week. It had been almost a year since they'd seen each other. He understood it wasn't easy for them to be apart but he thought lately her letters had started sounding more dutiful and less romantic. A guy putting his life on the line every day needed to hear a little more encouragement from his girl and a little less about how inconvenient coffee rationing was. He supposed he should just let it go. Iris had never been out of Nebraska. It was probably hard for her to understand the reality of his life over here.

The other boys teased him mercilessly about her, especially when nurses came for drinks and dancing and whatever else might go with it. It had taken him about 10 minutes to realize there was a lot of _whatever else_ going with it.

The nurses knew their way around the human body and they weren't shy. The combination of the two suited the Black Sheep just fine. Casey wasn't exactly shy either, but the first night one of the girls wrapped him in a lip lock in front of God and everybody, it had been clear she expected him to suggest they leave for their own private party on the beach.

He'd been intrigued, then aroused, then guilty – _Iris, remember Iris_ \- then nearly spilled his drink when the stacked blonde's hand slid down his backside and squeezed his butt in a manner that left absolutely no question the kind of party she was looking for. He'd managed to extricate himself from her embrace and stammered a hasty explanation about having to go on radio duty at 1900 hours. She looked disappointed but not discouraged and later he saw her leave with Jim. Jim had a grand story to tell over breakfast the next morning.

That was another thing about the girls out here. It was obvious they liked men. They liked men a lot. It wasn't all just dancing and flirting – they were willing to back it up. Geez, the stories the other boys told left him wondering if they were pulling his leg. It wasn't like he'd just fallen off the turnip truck but did girls really like doing it _that_ much?

He and Iris were a couple of good Lutheran kids. They knew they were supposed to wait until they were married but they hadn't. He'd talked his way under her skirt their senior year of high school. She'd been hesitant. He hadn't. Then he'd volunteered in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor and they'd made the most of their nights together before he reported for duty. In spite of his best efforts and their pending separation, Iris hadn't shared his enthusiasm.

Casey knew it wasn't the same for girls as it was for guys. His pa had told him how things worked, but hindsight being what it was, Casey thought he'd missed something. Every time he and Iris were together, he'd been as gentle as he could, touched her in what he thought were all the ways a girl would like to be touched, but her response had been lukewarm at best.

Their first time – which had been both of their first times – had gone about as well as he expected. Awkward and quick and slightly embarrassing because of it. After that, it had gotten better, at least for him. He'd gotten comfortable with what a girl's body had to offer and learned some self-control, but Iris' stoic resignation to the process was not what he'd hoped for. He was pretty sure he wasn't hurting her and he didn't think he was _that_ bad of a lover but it wasn't like there was any way to measure that sort of thing beyond the girl's reaction. It didn't do a lot for a guy's ego when that reaction was more relief when it was over than any kind of reciprocal enjoyment. And it wasn't like he had anyone else to compare it to.

Iris was as tall and slim and blonde-haired and blue-eyed as he was. They'd been sweethearts since high school and everyone said they were perfect for each other. She was a cheerleader, he was captain of the basketball team. Their parents farmed adjoining land. He told her he loved her after the winter formal during their junior year. Their future was kind of written in the stars. Everyone assumed they'd get married right out of high school and they might have, if Uncle Sam and Emperor Hirohito hadn't gotten involved.

So it troubled him when she didn't share his enthusiasm for their physical relationship. She was a willing participant but it was clear she was just going through the motions for his sake. While it was better than nothing, Casey would have liked her to share the same full throttle feelings he did. He thought after he got back home and they got married, they'd have plenty of time to practice.

"Bossy little thing," Jim reflected, jerking Casey's thoughts back to the present. Huh? Iris wasn't the least bit bossy. "Still, I don't mind a girl telling me where she wants my hands. Kinda takes the guesswork out of it, if you know what I mean."

Casey knew exactly what he meant. In spite of his best efforts, some aspects of Iris' body remained a complete mystery. Women should come with a map, he thought. Touch here a little, touch here a lot. Don't touch here at all.

"Takes the guesswork out of what?" Greg set three fresh bottles of beer on the table and dropped into a chair. He tossed a stack of folders on top of Casey's carefully ordered system. Paper flew everywhere.

"Women." Jim drained his bottle and reached for a fresh one.

Greg looked at the two younger men.

"I can tell you right now, nothing will ever take the guesswork out of women."

Casey eyed his CO while re-organizing the stacks of requisitions.

"I dunno," he said, "you seem to have it figured out. You were sure cozied up with that long legged brunette last night." Casey was slightly in awe of how women flocked to Greg in spite of the age difference. The 214's CO had at least a dozen years on most of the boys in the squadron. Not that it seemed to matter. He never lacked for female companionship.

"Gentlemen." Greg hooked his hands behind head and leaned his chair back, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Women are like flying combat. The more experience you have, the less likely you are to get hurt, but don't ever take them for granted or you'll go down in flames before you know what happened." He set the chair down with a thump, flipped open the top folder and stabbed a finger at the supply list. "We're low on oil. Again. Lard is going to try squeezing us out one way or another. I've got a plan."

Casey tried not to roll his eyes. In his short acquaintance with Greg Boyington, the words "I've got a plan" usually meant the entire squadron was going to end up doing something that would have gotten anybody else killed or court martialed. Funny, the charges never seemed to stick at the 214 and they were all still alive although some days Casey was sure that was a temporary condition.

"Let's go see how much of that Scotch Boyle got unloaded before they hit the jeep." Greg stood and the men headed outside. "We need at least four cases to trade with the Seabees, unless we want to cut it with water and reseal the bottles. That'll take time but Anderson and French are pretty good at it. I think if we –"

"Hey Pappy, what's your dog got hold of now?" Jim pointed at Meatball. The terrier was trotting past the Sheep Pen with something clamped in his jaws. Meatball was a kleptomaniac when it came to women's clothing and the men were used to seeing him carrying around everything from bras to handkerchiefs. They were pretty sure he had a stash of items he'd found on the beach, and occasionally in tents, but they hadn't managed to find it yet.

Greg knelt and whistled. Meatball trotted up, wagging his tail, and reluctantly released the damp fabric.

"Whose hat is that?" Jim queried.

The setting sun glinted on metal. Casey took it and brushed dirt off the insignia. An oak leaf and acorn over an anchor. Navy Nursing Corps.

"I bet it's Dee's. Lieutenant Ryan's," he amended hastily. In spite of the forced intimacy of the foxhole, he didn't think he knew her well enough to call her by her first name. "She must have lost it this afternoon."

He tucked the hat into his belt and said the first thing that came to mind.

"We're all going to visit Boyle after the mission tomorrow, right? I'll take it back to her then."

Jim chuckled.

"What would Daisy have to say about that?"

"Iris! And it's not like that," Casey scowled. "I'm just taking the lieutenant her hat back."

"Yeah. Whatever. Just remember, height doesn't matter when you're laying down." Jim turned away, leaving Casey standing there. He looked at Meatball, who was looking hopefully at the hat.

"No, you can't have it back. And what are you laughing at?"

The terrier didn't answer.

 **XXX**

 **The next afternoon**

 **Hospital**

 **Vella La Cava**

The sound of boots on the hospital's wood plank floor announced the Black Sheep's arrival. Dee looked up from charting medication dosages to see what was apparently the entire squadron trooping down the ward, calling out ribald greetings to other patients as they passed. They were still in flight suits and she recognized the adrenaline high that came with a successful mission.

Oh dear Lord, she thought. Could they possibly make any more noise? Delmonte would have her butt in a sling if they didn't quiet down. Hastily she dropped the chart she was updating and intercepted them.

"Please lower your voices, gentlemen," she said in her best ward matron's voice.

They ignored her.

"Hey, Bobby boy! Sit up and take notice! We kicked Tojo's ass this morning even without you!" TJ called.

"I flew wing for Don and he says there's no rush for you to get back on the active duty roster," Casey added. "He didn't have to pick any lead out his tail when we got home for a change."

Boyle made a rude gesture.

Dee caught Casey's eye. He grinned at her. Her stomach did a funny little tumble that took her mind off how much noise they were making. It was nice to see a friendly face again. Delmonte hadn't exactly been treating her with warm fuzzies.

Greg lofted a bottle of Scotch.

Oh, no. _That_ was not good.

"What are you doing!" She was incredulous. "You can't have that in here!" One of the men produced a glass and splashed the whisky into it.

"Here's to Boyle!" said Jim, lifting the glass in a toast before taking a drink and passing it along.

"You cannot give Lieutenant Boyle alcohol! He's still sedated!" Dee snapped, grabbing for the bottle. Jim easily held it out of her reach. Boyle was apparently not as sedated as he should have been. He managed to sit up and reached for the glass. Dee shot out a hand and snatched it away from him. Two of the pilots pinned her arms and a third took it away from her.

Then one of the tall ones – _damnit, there were a lot of tall ones_ – picked her up around the waist and set her out of their way. The rest of them found this amusing. The men who had obeyed her without hesitation yesterday overrode her protests now. She elbowed her way back to the front of the pack, where Boyle was attempting to grasp the glass again.

"Absolutely not!" she said, taking it out of his hand and setting it on a nearby table.

"You're no fun," Boyle whined.

"You have no idea how much fun I am," Dee snapped.

"I'd love to find out, darlin', come over and see me some time," Jim said. The men whooped appreciatively.

She glared at them.

"What is the meaning of all this racket?" Delmonte's strident voice carried from the corridor.

"Now you've done it. Out, out, out!" Dee pointed at the exit. "Go! Now! Or she'll have all of us up on charges and that includes you, too, Major!" She spun Greg around and pushed at his very solid back. It was like pushing on a tree trunk.

Giving up, she grabbed the bottle of Scotch off the bedside table, not knowing if she meant to hand it to him or hit him over the head with it. Apparently the men had encountered Delmonte's wrath before and finally took her warning to heart. The last of them vanished out the door on a whiff of engine exhaust. The lieutenant commander's footsteps marched closer in the corridor.

Dee turned back to find Casey still standing there.

"What are you waiting for? Get out of here while you still can." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "No sense in her killing both of us."

"Lieutenant Ryan? Is this the level of decorum I can expect when you're on duty?" The steel wool voice was just on the other side of the door. Dee looked at Casey. He couldn't go out the front door now, he'd run smack into her.

"Follow me!" she said and turned. Then, seeing the whisky tumbler sitting on Boyle's bedside table, she picked it up and downed the contents. Wheezing slightly, she pointed a finger at Bob.

"You saw nothing! Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

Boyle blinked in disbelief.

Dee shoved the glass at Casey who tucked it into a pocket on his flight suit. Still holding the bottle in her right hand, she grabbed him by the wrist with her left. They dashed through a side door into a small anteroom, then through another door, down a short flight of steps and into the dappled sunlight behind the building. Through an open window overhead, Delmonte's voice drifted out.

"Lieutenant Halvorson, have you seen Lieutenant Ryan?"

Dee bit her lip. She looked at Casey. He was holding his breath but grinning.

"I think she went to the head, ma'am," the other nurse replied. There was some disembodied grumbling, then Delmonte's footsteps clattered out of the room and faded into the distance.

Dee let out her breath. She leaned against the building for support, one hand on Casey's shoulder, the other pressing the bottle against her stomach as laughter overwhelmed her.

"That woman terrifies me," she said, recovering at last. "I've been here 24 hours and apparently the only thing I've done right was saving your Lieutenant Boyle. She's found something wrong with nearly everything I've done since then."

"She's my number one reason for not getting hurt. Having her treat me would be worse than anything the Japanese could do." Casey eyed the bottle. "Do you plan to drink that all yourself?"

Dee had forgotten she was holding the whisky.

"If you lot keep stampeding through here like a herd of buffalo, yes." She uncapped the bottle and took a drink. Say what you would about the Black Sheep, they had exceptionally good Scotch. She handed the bottle to Casey and watched as he tipped it back. His hair was windblown and she flexed her fingers in an unconscious desire to mess it up even more. Where had _that_ come from? This is what she got for drinking in the middle of the day.

Casey fumbled in his pocket and pulled out her garrison cap.

"You dropped this yesterday." He handed it to her.

"Thank you! I wondered what happened to it." She took it from him, her fingers brushing his. For a moment, she froze, her back pressed against the white-washed clapboard siding, her face tipped up toward his. His eyes were a lovely warm shade of blue, with light lashes. She wasn't buying that blue-eyed innocence for a minute.

"Dee? Are you out there?" a voice hissed out the window above them. "She's on the warpath! Get back in here before she finds out where you went."

There was no need to ask who _she_ was.

"I've got to go," Dee said. "Delmonte's probably adding unauthorized head visits to the list of the sins I've committed today." She lifted the bottle. "Here. You'd better take this."

Casey shook his head.

"No. You keep it. You might need it. I'm sure we'll be back again before Boyle gets released."

"All the more reason to get him out of here in a hurry," Dee said, but she was smiling. Maybe if they didn't all come at once, they wouldn't be so bad.

 **XXX**

"You leave a girl back home?" Casey dropped onto his bunk in a T-shirt and skivvies. The tropical warmth didn't let up much at night.

"Yeah." Jerry Bragg put down the book he was reading. "It didn't seem right, expecting her to wait when there was no telling when I'd come back." He paused, the words they all thought hanging in the air. "Or if I'd come back. We said our good-byes and she promised to write but that ain't happened. I reckon she's moved on by now. I dunno how you and Iris there –" he indicated the framed photo sitting by Casey's bunk "-make it work."

Casey shook his head. He didn't know how they made it work either. Or if they _were_ making it work. There was only so much satisfaction you could get out of letters. He remembered kissing Iris good-bye at the bus station when he shipped out.

"I love you, Larry," she'd said, but her big blue eyes had been dry and it seemed even then she was just going through the motions, saying and doing what was expected of her. He would have liked, just once, to see real emotion bubble to the surface of her calm self-control – anger, fear, irreverent humor, anything. Even when they made love, her responses were oddly emotionless, which to tell the truth, had kind of put a damper on it for him. Maybe that was just how women worked? Although to hear Jim and the others tell it, it clearly wasn't. He sighed.

"I figure if I want female company, I can find a nurse to give me the time of day," Jerry mused. "Or night. How about that new girl who flew in the other day? She's a cute little piece of work. Love a girl who's not afraid to tell you what to do. I coulda died when she grabbed Jim's hand and slapped it in Boyle's crotch. Still, I could put up with a little attitude from a girl who looks like that . . ."

"Don't you start, too." Casey rolled over and put his pillow over his head. As he drifted off to sleep, the face in his dreams wasn't his blue-eyed Scandinavian sweetheart waiting in Nebraska. He could vividly see Dee Ryan kneeling in the dirt, blood smeared across her cheek, vibrancy snapping around her like a cloak as she gave orders to men she'd never met before. She was about as un-Iris-like as they came. So why couldn't he get her out of his mind?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: A Drink with the Black Sheep**

 **Vella La Cava VMF 214 HQ**

"Hey, Casey, letter from your girl!"

TJ sent the envelope winging into the tent. Casey snagged it out of mid-air before it dropped behind the pile of unfolded laundry on his bunk. He recognized Iris' perfect script. Apparently TJ had, too. Iris' letters arrived with predictable regularity. He ripped it open.

" _Dear Larry"_ the salutation read.

He grimaced. So now it was _"Dear Larry"?_ Over the months, the greetings had progressively diminished from "My beloved" to "My dearest" to "Darling" and now this. _Dear Larry._ Well, hell.

It didn't get much better after that. Iris told him all about the weather (wet, which was doing _horrible_ things to her hair), her job at the five and dime (oh, the unrealistic expectations of _some_ people), the gossip she'd heard in church about the new pastor's wife (scandalous) and Danny Kilpatrick, the new man her father had hired to help during harvest.

The latter topic occupied considerably more space on the page than the weather, the five and dime or pastor's wife's indiscretions. Casey thought he would rather have heard more about any of those than the merits of Danny Kilpatrick. Beyond a quick "Hope you are well" penned in closing, she hadn't expressed any particular interest in his state of health or acknowledged the fact he was flying as a member of the hottest fighter squadron in the Southwest Pacific. He hadn't really expected her to. Lately, that had become the norm, not the exception.

Picking up a pencil and paper, he decided to write this week's letter and get it over with.

" _My dearest Iris, this morning the Empire of Japan tried to kill me. Again."_ he began. And wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he and Iris Nielsen were not as perfect for each other as everyone in Kimball County, Nebraska, thought _._

 **XXX**

 **The next afternoon**

 **Vella La Cava Naval Hospital**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Dee pulled off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed. In a completely unexpected turn of events, she'd been given her own private room in the nurse's quarters. She wouldn't be holding any dances there but it had space for a bed, a dresser, a desk and a couple of chairs. She even had a window that looked out toward the ocean, and - most glorious of all – her own private bathroom. Signing on for the long haul apparently had its benefits. She loved every tiny square inch she had to call her own. After two years of sharing zero-privacy barracks housing, lumpy bunk beds and communal showers with other nurses, a room of her own with a real bed was an undreamed of luxury. She wasn't sure if it justified getting shot at by Japanese raiders but she wasn't going to argue, either.

Her first 48 hours on Vella La Cava hadn't left her much time to enjoy it. Delmonte needn't have worried about her conduct around the Black Sheep. Other than their visit to see Bobby Boyle, she hadn't seen them since she got here. She'd been thrown into a whirlwind of meeting the hospital staff, working shifts that had her seeing both sunrise and sunset through the ward windows and sleep-walking through meals in the mess. Now she had a well-deserved 24 hours off duty and didn't know where to start.

She hadn't even taken time to unpack properly yet. She pulled herself off her bed and upended her bag. She hung her uniforms – skirts, blouses, jackets, jumpsuits - in the closet. She put her underthings and a few pair of civilian shorts and shirts in the dresser. She organized her toiletries in the bathroom. She set a framed photo on her desk, smiling at friends' faces from back home.

Now what was she going to do? La Cava wasn't known for its expansive entertainment district.

She should get out her needle and thread and mend the hem of the skirt she'd been wearing her first day here. The base laundry had done an admirable job of getting the mud and blood out of it but they clearly didn't intend to do any mending. Dee had been sewing since she was eight and routinely made her own clothing. Stitching a hem back in would be child's play. She retrieved the small sewing kit that had traveled with her over continents and oceans in the last few years and set to work.

As her needle and thread flashed through the fabric, her thoughts drifted. That was the problem with sewing by oneself – it was entirely too conducive to wandering thoughts and her thoughts kept wandering straight to the Black Sheep. They were . . . intriguing. A totally irreputable band of pirates, if Delmonte was to be believed. Well, what fighter squadron wasn't?

Every time she took a new assignment, she seemed to be surrounded by more and more men, Dee mused. While the fairer sex was normally the minority on any military base, as she'd moved from the United States to London to Espritos to La Cava, there had been progressively more and more men and fewer and fewer women. She didn't entirely mind the odds, but she knew how this worked. She, along with every other nurse on this tiny outpost, was considered fair game and it was open season 24/7.

Dee had slept with exactly two men and she suspected there was more to it than what she'd encountered so far. There simply had to be. The men had seemed to enjoy it fine but she'd found the process awkward and not as satisfying as she'd hoped. She could have gotten past the awkwardness if it hadn't been for the promise of things that were teased but rarely delivered. Any pleasure she derived seemed to be the byproduct of the man's satisfaction, never from an understanding of mutual give and take, which she thought was the whole point of sharing one's body with someone in the first place.

She'd even wondered one evening in a Scotch-induced haze, if the lack of fireworks when it came to being in a man's bed had less to do with the man and more to do with her. What if she was one of those girls who liked other girls? No one ever talked about that but she knew it happened.

She'd hastily abandoned that thought. She liked men. She liked the way they smelled – soap and shaving lotion and the warm musk of clean skin. She liked the feel of a strong pair of arms around her, guiding her across a dance floor, pulling her close for a kiss. All that delicious muscle and heat under her hands. The taste of whisky as their lips brushed hers. Apparently there was no shortage of _that_ around here. What had Casey been saying about trading whisky to the Seabees for a generator? Was he serious? Could they do that?

She was still thinking about whisky and men and sex, which was not a good combination under any circumstances, especially since there seemed to be an overabundance of the first two on this island and God knew that could lead to the third, when someone knocked on her door. Wanting to be sociable, she'd left the door ajar on purpose. She hadn't gotten to know many of the other girls beyond a professional level. Laura Halvorson stuck her head in. The willowy blonde had covered for her at the hospital the afternoon Casey brought her hat back.

Casey.

And now her mind was back on men, or at least on one man with blue eyes and a smile that made her hope they would cross paths again soon.

"Hey, Ryan, some of us are going over to the Sheep Pen for a drink later. Wanna come with? They love a new girl there." Laura's voice was teasing. "You'll be the belle of the ball."

Dee remembered Delmonte's warning regarding behavior when socializing with the pilots. The commander's unspoken disapproval of anything to do with the Black Sheep made the idea even more appealing. She weighed the prospect of sitting by herself like a granny with her mending or putting herself in a situation where the least of her concerns might be a disciplinary hearing.

"I bet they do."

"What else are you going to do, sit here by yourself all evening and brood?"

"I'm not brooding." She wasn't brooding, was she? She certainly wasn't going to tell Laura what she'd been thinking about, especially since now she had Casey's smile in her mind's eye. It was the sort of smile that invited any number of possibilities.

"You look like you're brooding. Did you leave a boy behind in London?"

Dee set her mending aside.

"No," she said firmly. "I didn't leave anyone behind who didn't deserve it."

Laura laughed.

"That's the spirit! I'll pick you up at 1900."

 **XXX**

She didn't dress up for the occasion. Some of the other girls liked to change from uniforms into civilian dresses for their down-time forays away from the hospital but Dee hadn't bothered. She was still in her jumpsuit. It wasn't the height of fashion but it was comfortable. She figured it might be easier to maintain a professional demeanor if she retained professional dress. Not that she really expected it to work that way.

From what she'd heard about the Black Sheep, she was probably going to attract a certain amount of attention no matter what she wore. She let a pleasant thrill of anticipation run through her. She was pretty sure she could handle anything the boys of the 214 could throw at her and an evening away from being stalked by Lieutenant Commander Delmonte was exactly what she needed.

She took a little extra time with her hair and wore the scarlet lipstick that set off her fair skin and brown eyes. Being professional didn't mean she couldn't look nice.

 **XXX**

Laura hadn't been kidding when she said the Black Sheep loved a new girl. From the minute Dee stepped into the ramshackle little social club they called the Sheep Pen, Dee was besieged with offers of drinks and requests to dance. Her head swam with names and faces. She remembered Casey, Jim and Greg, along with Boyle – out of the hospital now but off the flight roster while he healed. He greeted her with a hug and insisted on buying her first drink for saving his life.

After that, alcohol flowed like rain and her glass was never empty. She officially met the rest of the squadron with Greg doing the introductions that had been lost amidst the blood and chaos of that first day and the hasty scramble at the hospital the day after that. In light of establishing friendly relations, she decided to overlook their boisterous behavior that day. If it hadn't been them, Delmonte would have found something else to get on her case about.

The boys were polite and curious and peppered her with questions. Where was she from? Why did she join the Navy? Where had she been stationed before coming here? What did she like best about being a nurse? What did she think of Vella La Cava so far?

They were sweet and but they were testing her and she knew it. If they were hoping she'd be susceptible to their impossible blend of charming arrogance, they were going to be disappointed. She'd had plenty of experience with flyboys in London. No one, repeat _no one_ , was as arrogant as a pilot. And no one was as much fun, either, she thought as she found herself having a genuinely good time.

Dancing was popular since it created a captive audience. It was hard to pay attention to anything else when a man was holding your hand with his, inviting you to caress his shoulder with your other hand, while his fingers rested warmly on your waist.

"I think you still have a bottle of our Scotch," Greg said as they moved in time to the music.

Dee had been letting herself get lost in his eyes. Men with blue eyes wreaked havoc on her senses. She shook herself back into the moment. She had no business getting involved with this band of renegades beyond a few drinks and certainly not with their leader, no matter how handsome he was. Besides, he must be at least 15 years older than her. She wasn't above a little flirting, though. It kept life interesting.

"I thought you left it as a welcome gift," she said, letting her eyes go wide and innocent. He saw through her immediately and the look in his eye said he knew she wasn't that innocent. That made her blush.

"Considering your first hour on La Cava, it probably should have been," he agreed. "Keep it. It's on the house."

TJ cut in. He suggested they go back to her quarters and he would help her drink the bottle in question. He was followed by Jim, who suggested they take it to the beach and drink it there. She made it clear to both parties she was not interested. That was easier said than done.

She noticed Casey spent most of the evening playing poker. He'd given her a cheerful wave and a smile when she first arrived, then she'd been caught up in the Black Sheep's social whirlwind.

"For a guy who pulls a girl into foxhole without knowing her name, you don't strike me as the wallflower type," she said, sliding into an empty chair next to him.

He gave her one of those recruiting poster grins and tossed his cards on the table. "I'm out," he announced to Don and Jerry, then turned to her. "Are you having a good time?"

She looked down.

"My glass is empty. I figure you've got two choices - buy me a drink or ask me to dance." She raised her tumbler appraisingly. "Given how much I've already had to drink, I think you'd better ask me to dance."

Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade" came on the jukebox and couples were swaying to the music.

"I'm not much of a dancer," he said.

"C'mon, I'll lead." She held out her hand.

He hesitated, and Dee could see a private battle going on in his head. Then he stood and graciously pulled her into the music. He had lovely hands, she thought, warm fingers with just the right amount of pressure.

To get her thoughts off his hands, she said, "You boys take your Scotch seriously. Greg told me to keep that bottle he left at the hospital but I think it cost him to give it up."

"You have no idea," Casey answered. "It's like liquid currency out here."

She tipped her head up to study the planes of his face and then looked around the room.

"Do you have a girl here?" she asked. It didn't seem likely, since he'd been playing cards all evening.

"Not here," he said. He held her so lightly, so respectfully, and hadn't once suggested they leave for somewhere more private, she'd started to let her guard down.

"Not here? At home then?" she grabbed his left hand and inspected it. "You're not married, are you?"

"He might as well be," Jim said as he edged past, hands filled with beer bottles. "The fair Tulip awaits. Seriously darlin', you're wasting your time with him."

"It's Iris!" Casey yelled at Jim's retreating back.

"Iris? That's a pretty name." Having found no wedding ring on it, Dee put his hand back on her waist. "Where is the fair Iris waiting for you?"

"A little place you never heard of in Nebraska."

"We're practically neighbors," she said. "I'm from a little place you've never heard of in North Dakota. What does your fiancé do?"

"We're not engaged," Casey said, a little hastily. "She's not really my fiancé. Yet. Her family farms next to mine, in the same township. We grew up together."

"Childhood sweethearts?" She thought that was very romantic and said so. An odd look flickered across his face and then it was gone.

"What about you?" he said, effectively putting an end to further talk about Iris.

"No childhood sweethearts," Dee said. "No sweethearts at all."

It was the truth. The men she'd slept with in England had been flights of fancy, warm arms on cold nights amidst the uncertainty of war. Looking back, she realized they'd been little more than the means to an end, the pursuit of a physical need. She chided herself in hindsight. With that attitude, no wonder the reality of sharing a man's bed had fallen far short of fantasy. Hadn't she done the very thing Delmonte warned her that the boys were here did, seeking a willing partner for a temporary escape?

"No fair monopolizing the new girl, Lawrence," Bob Anderson said, cutting in. Casey let go of her hand, a little reluctantly, Dee thought. She slid into Bob's arms, laughing at the complete absurdity of how much taller he was. She could feel Casey's eyes on her even as he returned to the poker game.

Say what you would about the Black Sheep, she thought, they knew how to make a girl feel welcome.

 **XXX**

"Damn, Casey, she's ripe for the picking and she sure looked like she was enjoying herself out there with you." Jim nodded toward the dance floor. "Hell, the other day she got you out of your shirt in less than 10 minutes. A little sweet talk, a little walk in the moonlight and I bet she'd do anything you wanted. Might be good for you. You been kinda edgy lately."

Casey followed his gaze. Dee was dancing with TJ again. TJ was considerably taller than her, too, but they were making it work and were engaged in a spirited conversation. TJ kept smiling and nodding his head toward the door. Dee kept shaking her head _no_ but she was smiling, too, and looked like she was enjoying the casual flirting that came easily among people who knew their circumstances could change in a heartbeat.

"Knock it off, Gutterman," Casey said irritably. There were times when Jim's endless quest to get a girl into bed wore a little thin. He wasn't opposed to admiring the female form but thought Jim's assumption that girls served basically one purpose was more than a little degrading. Besides, Dee had danced with all of the men through the course of the evening. She no more had her eye on him than the man in the moon.

Jim shrugged.

"I saw her pick you out of the crowd earlier. She made a point to ask you to dance. Look at her, she's an American classic. And she's been around this war for a while, too, bet she saw some action in London." He paused, sipped his drink. "Mmmm . . . just imagine what that body could do."

Casey had spent the better part of the evening trying not to imagine anything of the sort. Dee Ryan was the complete opposite of his not-a-fiance at home. Iris conducted herself with what his mother called good deportment. Casey just thought she was very polite. By contrast, Dee was sipping whisky and enjoying the raucous atmosphere of the Sheep Pen with a joi de vivre that he could almost touch. Not that he planned to touch anything where she was concerned. Dancing with her had been wonderful, though. The scent of her skin still lingered in his mind.

"I dunno why you're acting like a monk, you might as well enjoy yourself if you get the chance. It's not like you have to write home about it," Jim said. When he got no response, he continued. "That gal of yours in Nebraska sure must be a hot ticket between the sheets if you're so determined to be faithful to her. You ain't got laid since you been over here, have you?"

Casey didn't answer right away. Then he said, "Why is everything with you about getting a girl on her back?"

Jim shrugged.

"On her back, on her knees, I'm not particular."

Casey gritted his teeth but didn't say anything. The ease with which the other boys engaged in casual sexual encounters was staggering. The opportunities had been there for him, too, but he'd always walked away. Iris was worth waiting for, he'd reminded himself of that on more than one occasion. He got teased for it nearly as much as he got teased about having a girl at home in the first place.

TJ had briefly taken to calling him St. Casey. TJ had gotten some loose teeth and Casey had ended up with one eye swelled shut. Greg had grounded both of them from a week's missions and put them on kitchen duty together instead. He relented as soon as Casey could see out of both eyes again. He needed them upstairs and neither of them could cook worth a crap.

Jim stood up. He grinned lazily. "I'd hate to see Lieutenant Ryan's charms go unappreciated so if you're going to play the choir boy, wanna bet I can make her give it up – oof!"

Casey's first punch spun Jim sideways and his follow-up knocked the Texan into the bar. Jim recovered fast and launched a roundhouse that sent Casey sprawling backward over a table. Cards and beer bottles flew. Girls squealed and personnel scrambled out of the way. Casey pulled himself off the table, got his bearings and charged at Jim, who met him full on.

Two men in civilian clothing who'd been nursing beers in a corner whipped notebooks out of their pockets and began to scribble madly.

"Knock it off!" Greg yelled, but the combatants were too far gone to hear him. Greg waded into the fight with a few of the other boys backing him up. After a great deal of scuffling, during which Jim landed an ill-timed punch on Greg and had it returned twofold, they pulled Casey off of Jim. The former's lip was split and the collar of his shirt was torn half off. The latter's nose was bleeding and his shirt was ripped at the shoulder. Both men suddenly became aware of the lack of female personnel to provide medical attention. Casey looked out of the Sheep Pen to see the jeep's tail lights fade into the distance as the girls headed back to the hospital.

"What the hell is wrong with you two meatheads?" Greg demanded. "This corner of the war suddenly not big enough for both of you?"

Neither of them answered.

"I don't suppose you noticed those two fellows in the corner – the ones who started scribbling as fast as they could while the two of you were going at it? They were correspondents, no doubt sent here by Lard to get the dirt on us, and you put on quite a show for them. Can't wait to read _that_ story." The other boys edged cautiously out of the way. Greg's feelings for the press corps were well known.

Sullen silence was the only reply. Casey couldn't have said exactly what had pushed him over the edge. The laundry list started with being teased about Iris and ended with Jim's not-so-subtle hints about his intentions with Dee. It had been stupid, a gut reaction born out of frustration on a number of different levels and he knew it.

He reluctantly stuck out his hand.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Don't know what came over me. Won't happen again."

Jim shook it.

"I didn't know you had such a good left." He rubbed his jaw. "Never seen you swing like that before."

Greg set down three glasses and a bottle. He gave both of the younger men a shrewd look.

"I don't know what her name is but I'll drink to any girl worth beating the hell out another guy for. Even if it probably is going to end up in the papers."

 **XXX**

 **The next evening**

 **Vella La Cava**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Casey fidgeted in the hallway. It had taken him the better part of the day to work up the nerve to come over here and now that he was here, he started second-guessing himself. Male personnel weren't allowed in the nurses' residence hall during the day, let alone after hours, but he'd been lucky enough to run into Laura who was just coming off shift when he arrived. She'd run interference and let him get up the stairs to Dee's corridor without being seen. Now he was praying Dee would let him in when he knocked, otherwise, he was going to have to navigate out of the building without encountering Lieutenant Commander Delmonte and quite frankly, that woman scared the hell out of him.

He considered it a good sign he'd gotten this far. He initially thought he'd end up having to leave a message for Dee to meet him in the commons area and after last night, he wasn't sure she'd want anything to do with him. The brawl had been pretty tame by Black Sheep standards since no one got hauled to the hospital afterward, but it had been enough to have Dee and all the other nurses bidding the Sheep Pen good riddance for the evening.

Not to mention Greg had given both him and Jim an ass chewing for it. It was bad enough when they beat on men from other units but Greg always had their back on that. It was worse when they beat on each other and even worse than _that_ , they'd done it in front of a couple of reporters from stateside papers. Greg had no use for the press corps. He said they never got anything right and he was pretty sure Lard was using them to erode the Black Sheep's credibility.

Then to top it all off, he got the distinct feeling Jim and Greg both knew that Dee was occupying more of his mind than she had a right to. He was practically engaged, after all. Just because Iris wasn't officially his fiancé now didn't mean she wouldn't be when this was all over.

He knocked quietly on Dee's door and held his breath.

"Come in!" Her voice was cheerful.

He opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Hi – oh God, sorry!" He turned to leave, was halfway out the door when he saw Delmonte's bulk exiting from a nearby room, her back to him. He jumped back into Dee's quarters and shut the door firmly.

"Sorry!" he said again and closed his eyes.

She was standing in a towel and nothing else, laughing at his discomfort.

"It's okay, really, I thought you were Ellen. She's coming over to borrow a book."

"Delmonte's coming down the hall right now."

"Oh, shit!" Dee's expression changed and she glanced frantically at the clock on the nightstand. "Leave it to her to do a bed check tonight! You're over here kind of late, aren't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, she motioned to the bathroom door.

"In there," she ordered. Casey crossed the room in two strides and ducked into the bathroom. Dee followed him in, gripping her towel with one hand and yanking back the shower curtain with the other. She bent and turned on the tap, providing Casey with an unrestricted view of the back of a lovely pair of thighs. She adjusted the shower and yanked the curtain closed again.

"Stay here," she said.

He looked at her like she was insane.

"Won't she look in here?" he asked.

"Where else am I going to put you? You won't fit in the closet!" Dee hissed. A knock sounded on the door. "Be quiet!" She stepped out, pulling the door partially closed behind her.

Casey looked around the small room. It smelled wonderful, like soap and shampoo and the scent he'd noticed when he danced with her the night before. It made him think of cool autumn twilight, shadows overlaid with hints of spice and smoke. It did not make him think of Iris.

In the outer room, he heard the door open.

"Yes?" Dee's voice was a study in innocence.

In the brief silence that followed, Casey imagined Delmonte stepping into the room and surveying it.

"Why is your shower running, Ryan, when you're not in it? Do you think hot water grows on trees out here?"

"No, ma'am, I was just about to get in when you knocked."

There was a disgruntled noise, then the commander spoke again.

"Heard there was a dust up at the 214 last night."

"Yes, ma'am."

Casey noticed clean clothes hanging on the back of the door and a tidy pile of pale pink, silky underthings next to the sink. He didn't know much – okay, he didn't know anything – about women's Navy issue undergarments but he'd bet ten to one that those weren't regulation. He averted his eyes. It seemed wrong to be looking at Dee's underthings when she wasn't in them. Oh what was he thinking? It wouldn't be any better if she _was_ in them. Well. No. Wait. It would be a lot better. Oh God.

"Were you there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Were you involved?'

"When men start slugging each other, I try not to get involved."

That got Casey's mind off her unmentionables. He strangled a laugh.

Delmonte made another noise.

"Your smart mouth will get you in trouble someday, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am, I expect it will."

"Ryan, go get in that shower before you run the base dry."

"Yes, ma'am."

Heels clicked and the door closed. Casey breathed a sigh of relief.

Dee pushed into the bathroom.

"Trade you places."

"What are you - ?" His eyes went wide when it became clear she planned to drop the towel.

"You heard her. She told me to take a shower. So I'm taking a shower. I won't be long, I promise." She paused. "You'll wait, right?"

With that she shoved him out of the bathroom and closed the door. He wandered aimlessly around the Spartan room. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the nurses' quarters but it was the first time he'd been in a private room for longer than just a few minutes. He often accompanied the other boys on evening forays but always to serve as a lookout or tease open a lock, never with any intent to keep company with the inhabitants. In hindsight, his knowledge of the entries, exits, stairs and corridors was born of a rather dusty academic interest, although he was intrigued by the ease with which the girls welcomed the pilots behind closed doors. Girls did not behave that way in Kimball County.

Greg must have seen this coming because he had given the squadron a lecture addressing their conduct soon after they'd established the base on La Cava.

"It's none of my business what you do with those girls," he'd pointed in the direction of the hospital. "I'll probably spend some time there, too." He grinned, then sobered, "But it had damn well better be consensual. If I hear one word about any of you meatheads forcing anything, you'll go three rounds with me. If a girl says no, she means no."

"And –" he pulled a square foil packet out of his pocket, held it briefly aloft and tossed it on the table. "You know what these are. Use them. You guys are going to have enough on your minds over here without adding fatherhood to it."

Since then, it had been apparent that the girls welcomed the Black Sheep's attention in spite of any thinly veiled illusions of playing hard to get. Romance - or whatever passed for it here - was alive and well and it took a lot of forms, the most popular being tumbles on the beach or more private assignations in the girls' quarters. Some of the higher ranking nurses were not above negotiating the use of their rooms should the need arise. It was all kind of staggering. Delmonte would have a coronary if she knew half of what was going on under her roof, Casey mused. He shook his mind back to the present.

Dee hadn't been here long enough to decorate very much. A single framed photo sat atop her desk. He picked it up, realizing with odd relief that it wasn't of a man. It showed Dee arm in arm with two other girls. They were wearing summer dresses and laughing at the camera. All three were extremely attractive, he thought, but Dee stood out, her dark eyes flashing with reckless good spirits. She looked a lot younger. The photo must have been taken years ago.

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out on a cloud of that intoxicating scent.

"Are these your sisters?" He indicated the photo.

She shook her head, hair falling in damp, dark waves to her shoulders. She'd changed into shorts and a blouse, her feet bare.

"No, I'm an only child. That's my best friend from back home and her little sister. So, what brings you to no-man's land tonight?" She indicated the lump of rolled cloth he'd set on her bunk. "Did you bring me a present?"

Casey laughed a little sheepishly. He'd completely forgotten why he was here.

"Um, yeah, about last night – " he started.

"When you and Jim decided to beat the hell out of each other for fun?" She crossed the room and with unexpected firmness, grasped his chin and tipped his face toward the window. Her fingers were cool against his bruised jaw, her scent drifted over him and suddenly everything Jim had suggested before the fight rushed back to him.

"Does your lip hurt?" Her tone held genuine concern. Gentle fingers brushed the abraded skin and it was all he could do to keep from showing her how much it didn't hurt.

"Yeah. A little." He reached up and took her wrist. Damnit. If she didn't stop that, he was going to end up taking Gutterman's advice and that was never a good idea. "Laura said you're good with a needle and thread and I wondered if maybe . . ."

Turning, he picked up the rolled cloth and shook it out, revealing two uniform shirts. The sleeve of one dangled forlornly and the collar of the other was half detached.

"One's mine and one's Jim's," he added helpfully.

The truth of it was that Casey wasn't half bad with a needle and thread himself but when Laura had mentioned to TJ who'd mentioned to French who'd mentioned to Casey that the new lieutenant at the hospital had mentioned to her that she made her own clothes before she joined the Navy, well, he'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity. But he was just here to see if she could mend their shirts. He had better things to do than sit around sewing. That was all.

Dee picked up the shirt with the mangled collar and studied it. Putting it down, she assessed the other garment.

"Yeah. I can fix these." She grinned. "Yours is on the house, for saving my behind that first day, but tell Jim he's gonna owe me."

Driving back to the base, Casey thought he wouldn't have minded owing her, too. Being around her made him feel like he'd never felt when he was around Iris. And then he felt guilty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Never bet against the Marine Corps**

 **Vella La Cava**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Sewing was usually a relaxing pastime but mending the boys' shirts was not doing a lot for Dee's state of mind. All it did was make her think about their owners and she was already thinking about Larry Casey more than a girl should think about a guy who was practically engaged to another girl.

She couldn't help it. He'd been so sweet that day he pulled her into the foxhole. He was easy to talk to, polite and concerned and charming and half a dozen other words she rarely used to describe fighter pilots. He wasn't the kind of charming aimed at getting her alone in a secluded place, which was the typical end game of pilots. There was a kind of innocence about him, although she suspected he wasn't any more innocent than the rest of them. He was the kind of guy she wouldn't mind being alone with in a secluded -

"Ouch! Damnit!" She'd stuck herself with the needle.

"Do you always sit around swearing by yourself?"

Dee looked up. Laura was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and a grin on her face.

"It's the Black Sheep's fault." Dee sucked her finger.

"It usually is," Laura agreed. "What are you doing?" She indicated the pile of fabric in Dee's lap.

"Getting a couple of them forever in my debt." Dee tied off a thread, snipped it and held up a neatly mended shirt.

"You know that fight was about you, don't you?"

"What?!" She fumbled her sewing kit and nearly dropped the whole thing.

"TJ told me he overheard Casey and Jim talking about you and Jim was being his usual tactful self – you really don't want to know what he said," Laurarolled her eyes, "- then next thing, Casey launches at him and they're beating the tar out of each other." Laura shrugged. "Trust me, fights over girls aren't unusual with that bunch, but Casey usually stays out of it. He's the one guy over there who doesn't treat women like a buffet line."

Dee snorted. It sounded like the whole lot of them were trouble of one sort or another.

"I'm going to run these shirts back," she said. "Wanna come with me?"

"Thanks but no thanks," Laura said. "There's safety in numbers and two of us against all of them aren't good odds." She looked at her watch. "If you're not back in three hours, I'll send Delmonte after you."

Dee shook her head and grinned.

"Don't. I'd rather l take my chances."

 **XXX**

Dee was half way up the steps to the Sheep Pen when Greg slammed through the door toward her. She jumped out of his way and stumbled against the railing, flailing to keep from going over backward. He caught her shoulders and set her upright again as if she weighed no more than milkweed fluff. Acknowledging her with an apology, he stormed down the steps. She let herself into the building where Casey was picking up the tattered remains of a newspaper.

"What's his problem?" Dee asked, catching a sheet of newsprint as it drifted across the floor on the breeze from a ceiling fan. It had taken her about five minutes to figure out the entire squadron was a volatile bunch. There was never any telling what they might do or say next.

"Colonel Lard sent a couple of correspondents over here a few days ago and they didn't do us any favors. I guess they were in here the night Jim and I . . . well . . . Pappy really hates the press. He'll be okay after 30 minutes with his punching bag."

Casey finished gathering the papers and stood up. The cut on his lip was half-healed and the scrape along his jaw still looked bruised and sore. He hadn't shaved, she noticed, and the blonde-red stubble gave him a rakish look. She thought about what Laura had said.

" _You know that fight was about you, don't you?"_

She decided not to dwell on that and nodded at the newspaper instead.

"Was the story that bad?"

"Here." He held out a crumpled page.

Dee read aloud.

" _Support for the recently re-formed VMF 214 may prove to be one of General Thomas Moore's biggest blunders of the war. Sources are already starting to question if Moore's decision to back Major Greg Boyington's scheme will cast him in a negative light the next time he's considered for promotion._

 _While the Black Sheep squadron has proven its mettle in the skies, on the ground, the men of the 214 are little more than a collection of bare-knuckle fighters sporting a list of charges ranging from drunk and disorderly to punching superior officers._

 _This group of pilots is just as likely to knock each other out in a bar brawl as they are to knock enemy fighters from the sky. The fact they continue to perform at such a high level in combat is testament to the leadership of their commanding officer, who is most often found in whatever drinking establishment is nearest, when he's not in the brig."_

Dee raised her eyebrows.

"Mmmmm," she mused. "Is it accurate?"

"No! Not . . . well . . . a little."

Dee folded the paper and handed it back.

"My friend Kate – the one in the picture on my desk – writes for the Associated Press. She says there's always two sides to every story. She'd have an absolute heyday in this place."

"A female correspondent? That would put Greg right over the edge," Casey said. "This place would never be the same."

She laughed and changed the subject. "I brought your shirts back."

"Thanks! It's hard to get replacement uniforms out here."

Dee surveyed him, taking in the T-shirt and fatigues that looked like they'd already seen duty in a previous war. She'd noticed most of the other boys dressed like that, too, when they weren't in flight suits.

"Is that why you only dress up on Saturday nights when the nurses are here?"

He shifted a little self-consciously and she knew she'd nailed it.

"Come help me find Jim. I want to make sure he gets my bill."

As it turned out, Jim wasn't around. Dee dropped his shirt on his bunk and scribbled a hasty note. _"You owe me."_ She tucked it between the buttons.

"That might not be the best idea," Casey warned. "Now he's going to start finding ways to pay you back."

"Yeah, I thought of that," Dee said, "but I don't want him to think he gets anything for free."

"What about me? You said mine was on the house." His direct blue gaze made her catch her breath.

"I still owe you for keeping me in one piece my first day here," she said, wishing he would quit looking at her like that. He turned, and she followed him, ducking into the tent he shared with Jerry Bragg.

"You're a very tidy housekeeper," Dee said, impressed.

"Thank Jerry," he replied. "He's the tidy one, not me."

She picked up a framed photo sitting on the upturned ammo crate that served as a nightstand. It showed a slender girl, fair hair pulled back with a velvet band, white blouse neatly buttoned and trimmed with a ribbon.

"Is this Iris?" She kept her voice carefully neutral.

"Yeah." Casey didn't look up from folding the shirt into his footlocker.

"She's very pretty."

When he didn't say anything, she set the photo down.

"I should get back. Laura warned me about coming over here without backup." Her tone was deliberately light.

Casey turned without looking at the photo.

"We're harmless. Really." Dee thought his grin said otherwise but she didn't argue. "Come have a drink first, maybe Jim will show up and you can make him buy, otherwise he'll want to name his own terms for fixing that shirt."

Dee paused only briefly. She knew exactly what Delmonte would have to say about drinking with the 214 in the middle of the afternoon. She decided Delmonte could take a flying leap.

 **XXX**

Casey sat in the Sheep Pen for a long time after the sound of Dee's jeep's faded into the distance. Iris' most recent letter lay on the table in front of him. TJ had delivered it shortly after Dee left and he'd read it as the cool spice of her fragrance lingered on the air. He'd found it extremely hard to concentrate on anything Iris had to say, although he noticed Danny Kilpatrick had again been a topic. The vibrancy of Dee's aura seemed to linger with her scent and between the two, his mind had gone off on a track of its own.

The door slammed and Greg strode in. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt but he seemed to have gotten over his earlier fury about the newspaper story. He helped himself to a beer and sat down across from Casey.

"The 149 on Rendova really wants that Aussie wine we got from those New Zealand fellows. If they can come up with – " he paused and sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmmm, that's nice. Who was just here?"

"Dee."

"Lieutenant Ryan?" Greg's brows arched. "What was she doing here in the middle of the day? Or do I want to know?"

"She brought my shirt back."

Greg arched his eyebrows, his mouth quirking in a smile.

"It's not like that," Casey amended quickly.

"What is it like?"

Casey idly tapped Iris' letter on the scarred table.

"You ever think you know someone, then realize you don't know them at all?" He dropped the envelope onto the table with a frustrated sigh. "Jerry thinks if I'm going to make this work with Iris, I shouldn't even look at another girl. TJ thinks if I'm interested in Dee I should let her know and see what happens. Jim thinks I should, well, never mind what he thinks I should do. And I think Boyle's taking bets on everything."

Greg chuckled.

"You're right about that. Current odds are three to one you're going to ask her out and she won't say no."

Great, Casey thought. That was the last thing he needed to hear.

"How'd you bet?"

Greg laughed.

"I never bet against the Marine Corps."

 **XXX**

"I see they let you get away."

Laura stuck her head into Dee's room. Dee looked up from the letter she was writing to Kate, who was posted with the Associated Press somewhere in northern England. There was no telling how long it would take the letter to find her but the two girls tried to correspond regularly.

"I took the shirts back, had a drink with Casey and here I am. He was a perfect gentleman."

"He would be," Laura said, grinning. "But I don't think you'd fight too hard if he wasn't."

"Hey!" Dee said, surprised at her friend's assessment.

"Oh don't tell me you haven't thought about it. You can't be around those guys for very long without picking a favorite. He's a sweetie, all lean and edgy and kind of hungry looking."

"I – he's - of course I haven't!" Dee sputtered. She knew emotion was showing on her fair skin.

"You're a liar," Laura said cheerfully. She sat down on the bed. Dee glared at her. "And not a very good one."

"Okay. Maybe I have thought about it." Dee tried not to sound defensive. It wasn't anyone's business whose face she saw in her daydreams. "Just a little. But he's got a girl at home so it doesn't matter."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. TJ says every time Casey gets a letter from her he looks like he's being poisoned. I think that ship is headed for the rocks, if you ask me."

"Maybe it is, but I'm not going to be the one who steers it there," Dee said firmly.

Laura didn't say anything, just arched her eyebrows and left.

 **XXX**

Over the next few weeks, Dee saw the Black Sheep at the hospital for various and sundry health complaints. They came in with cuts, burns, rashes, stomach disorders, dehydration, headaches and any number of contusions, all of which Dee suspected had little to do with their missions and a lot to do with how much they drank. It did not escape Dee's notice that certain boys only became injured when certain nurses were on duty.

She noticed although Casey was rarely in the queue of sick or hurt, he seemed to be the designated driver for hauling the other boys to the hospital. Every time one of the Black Sheep showed up on her shift, Casey was with him. Maybe it was because he was the dependable guy the others could always count on for transportation. Or maybe it was something else. She tried not to read too much into it.

Seeing him always made her heart skip a little. Laura was right. She thought about him more than she should. It was wrong and she knew it. How could she hope to compete with a romance that already had five years under its belt and was headed to the altar? But she couldn't help it. He greeted her with that boyish smile and her resolve to treat him like any of the other men vanished.

Dee flirted with all of them in that easy-come, easy-go way the nurses took when dealing with the Black Sheep. But when she was around Casey, her affection was real. He was honestly likeable and genuine. She enjoyed his company, due in large part because she didn't have to constantly be on the lookout to avoid being maneuvered into a compromising position. Laura's words often echoed in her mind, "But I don't think you'd fight too hard . . ." Well that wasn't going to happen, she decided, so it just didn't matter. And that was that.

She joined Casey and the other boys for drinks a couple of times a week and her days off frequently found her involved in some kind of activity at the base. When Anderson and French found she had steady hands and an eye for detail, they'd pressed her into helping them remove the seals from liquor bottles so the contents could be cut with water and re-labeled.

She'd found the work absurdly satisfying and she and Casey both ignored Jim's pointed observations about other possible uses for her hands. She routinely mended torn uniforms and flight suits, assuring the boys she would rather stitch up their clothes than stitch up their skin, although if the occasion arose they could count on her to do that, too.

Her mind kept tormenting her with the question of whether Casey was deliberately showing up at the hospital to see her or if it was just coincidence. Two days ago, he'd driven TJ over for a cut on his arm. Granted, the cut needed stitching but she was fairly certain TJ could have gotten the jeep the three miles from the 214's base to the hospital without expiring from blood loss.

The day before that, Casey drove French over to see about a rash on his leg. Dee had been in the room with French, Casey and Doc Reese when the latter advised the former to be a little more discerning about where he took his clothes off since some of the island's foliage was highly allergenic. Dee had bitten her lip to keep from laughing as she met Casey's eyes. She could tell from the look on his face exactly what he was thinking. She told him later she had treated a corresponding rash on Mary-Lou, the curvy little blonde nurse who French had been seeing a lot of lately. Apparently, quite a lot of.

In any event, it wasn't a huge surprise when Dee looked up late one morning to see Casey supporting his wingman, who was hobbling into the hospital on one leg.

"Now what have you done?" she asked briskly, abandoning the medical requisition forms that Delmonte had foisted on her.

Jerry groaned theatrically.

"Your foot is a long way from your mouth," she teased. "Or have you broken both of them?"

"He fell out of his bird when we got back this morning," Casey said. He was trying not to laugh at Jerry's obvious discomfort. Jerry glared at him. Casey shrugged. "It's the truth!"

"Maybe you should tell her it was on fire and I was in a little bit of a hurry," Jerry said defensively. "And I didn't fall. I jumped, just turned my ankle when I landed."

"He fell," Casey stage whispered. "He was in a hurry because he was afraid Micklin was going to turn the extinguisher on him for bringing his plane back on fire."

"Who's on fire?" Doc Reese came into the exam room. Dee unlaced Jerry's boot and pulled it off, along with his sock. His ankle was already swelling.

"Let's have a look at that," Reese said.

After it was concluded Jerry's ankle was only sprained, not broken, Dee wrapped it tightly and gave him the usual advice - stay off it, keep it elevated and ice it, if enough of that commodity could be spared from being put in drinks glasses.

Jerry maneuvered himself toward the door on a pair of crutches, which Dee thought looked like another accident waiting to happen. Casey hung back.

"Are you okay?" She scanned him up and down, her voice slightly alarmed. Near as she could tell, he didn't look any worse for the morning's mission. His hair was windblown and his face flushed with heat. His inviting grin had her grinning back helplessly. Damn him. He looked pretty much how he normally looked and that was enough to send her thoughts spiraling off in directions they didn't need to go at 1100 hours. Or any other time.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Hey, um, a bunch of us are getting together tonight on the beach for a bonfire." He shifted awkwardly. "I thought if you don't have anything else going on, maybe you'd like to come with me . . . um, come join us."

Dee felt an odd little jolt of electricity zing through her. His offer of honest friendship and that underlying hint of not-quite-innocence drew her like an invisible force. She wasn't sure this was a good idea.

"I'd love to," she said, feeling her heart kick into a higher gear. "I'm on duty until 1800. I'll see you after that."

"Great, see you then." His grin broadened and dashed to catch the door before it smacked Jerry in the backside.

Dee went back to the requisitions, her heart beating a little faster than rolls of sterile gauze and bottles of antiseptic necessitated. Good idea or not, she couldn't wait.

 **XXX**

The door slapped shut behind him and Jerry fixed Casey with a disbelieving look.

"Did you just ask her out? Are you crazy? What happens if she finds out about Iris?"

"She already knows about Iris," Casey said through clenched teeth. He knew the Black Sheep were not going to give him a moment's peace about this, although they were more likely to cheer him on than pass any kind of moral judgment. He wondered how much money would be changing hands when the word got out. "The guys have all invited their girls and I just thought I'd ask her as a friend."

"Uh-huh." Jerry hobbled around to get in the jeep. "Just friends. Right. How friendly do you plan to get?"

"Shut up, unless you want to walk back."

Jerry shut up.

Casey had no idea if Dee was interested in anything beyond friendship. He had no idea what he was thinking most of the time he was around her. He was practically engaged. He shouldn't be thinking about her at all. Now she'd started showing up in his dreams in decidedly _more_ than friendly ways. He thanked God Jerry slept like the dead because he didn't want to have to explain why the name on his lips when he woke was not that of the girl everyone in Kimball County expected him to marry.

He didn't have enough experience with girls to be able to read their unspoken language like Greg or Jim or even TJ. Those guys could read women like a printed page. They always knew the right things to say or do to have girls wrapped around their finger. Iris was the only girl he'd ever been with and they'd known each other since childhood so there hadn't been too many surprises. Iris tended to be predictable.

All he knew was that Dee had been on the base for about a month and she didn't seem interested in making time with any of the men in particular. When she came to the Sheep Pen with the other nurses, she always seemed to end up sitting next to him, chatting about the Black Sheep's missions or her work at the hospital. He liked the way she could flirt outrageously with the other boys but was always genuinely sincere when she talked to him.

Last week, she'd told him about Delmonte nearly catching her with a cooler of beer in her room for an after-hours party with some of the other nurses. Her retelling, complete with spot-on imitations of all parties involved, had left them both laughing so hard they couldn't sit up straight.

On the other hand, she chatted with Jim a lot, too. Heaven knew he hadn't given up on her and wouldn't leave her alone. Maybe she was just biding her time before she stopped telling him no. Still, she didn't seem the type to string a guy along. Oh hell. Women were just plain confusing. Greg was right. A guy would never figure them out completely.

 **XXX**

The huge driftwood bonfire sent flames dancing on the ocean breeze. Carrying a hamper of food liberated from the hospital kitchen, Dee and a handful of other nurses joined the Black Sheep that evening. Dee wasn't sure if their immediate popularity was because they brought food or because they themselves were on the menu. She suspected it might be both.

A volleyball game was proposed, with Casey and Jim as executive officers picking teams. At five foot, three inches Dee wasn't holding her breath. Even though she loved the game, short players were not generally first string picks. As expected, the taller boys were chosen first. Once they started picking from the nurses, Casey picked her. There was a great deal of hooting and hollering as she joined TJ, Anderson and several other pilots. Jim immediately picked Boyle, yelling something about "now each team had token short people."

Casey tossed her the ball to serve. She matched his grin. She'd show them _token short people._

After Dee served five straight points, then spiked the ball for a few more, the boys on her team backed her up when she needed help and gave her room when she didn't. At a score of 13 to 2, the other team started to get desperate.

"Damnit Casey, we didn't know you had a ringer!" Greg yelled after TJ dove in a spray of sand to keep the ball in play and Dee pounded home another point.

By then, both sides had given up on keeping score. The game ended after Meatball sank his teeth into the ball when it rolled out of bounds and absconded with it.

"That happens a lot," Anderson said. "That dog will steal anything that's not red hot or nailed down."

Dee sank onto the sand and Casey dropped down next to her. He handed her a beer, the brown glass bottle sweating with condensation. She took a drink and lay back on her elbows, enjoying the sea breeze.

"If you can ignore the malaria, the psychotic weather and living on the front lines of a war, this place is really kind of entertaining," she said, shoving at her hair. It had come loose from its tail at some point in the volleyball game and was blowing wildly. She gestured toward the beach where Boyle and French were chasing Meatball, trying to get the rapidly deflating ball back.

"It has its benefits," Casey said. She could feel his eyes on her, and his gaze was as warm as his voice. The breeze tugged at her hair again, sending it in a curtain across her face. She pushed at it absently.

And one of those benefits is a blue-eyed pilot who's a perfect gentleman during the day but something entirely different in my dreams, she thought. And has a girl waiting for him to come home and meet her at the altar.

"Here, let me." Casey leaned forward and before she could protest, he ran his fingers through her hair, combed it into a twist atop her head, then snugged his hat down over it. She was open mouthed with surprise.

"There. That hat looks better on you anyway."

Before she could reply, Anderson staggered through the sand, carrying a case of empty bottles.

"Hey, Lawrence! We're out of beer, come help me refill the cooler." He did a double take. "Nice hat, Dee."

While Casey and Bob headed back to the Sheep Pen to restock supplies, Dee wandered down to the shoreline. She strolled aimlessly, picking up shells and tossing them back down, thinking about the particular benefits of being stationed on La Cava.

It had been months since she'd been with a man. Even though those relationships had been less than fulfilling, she missed the simple pleasure of physical touch. Being around the Black Sheep in general and Casey in particular was like being offered something desirable, then having it taken away when she reached for it.

It was probably her own fault, she thought. She'd sworn off anything beyond casual flirting after her last relationship in London had flamed out. They had never been serious and they both knew it, but she shied away from throwing her heart back into the ring. Maintaining a relationship was work even under the best of circumstances. Being stationed on a front area island didn't even come close to the best of circumstances. While she was sure any of the Black Sheep would be willing to accommodate her for a little mutual fulfillment, that wasn't what she was looking for either. Oh, hell, she knew exactly what she was looking for. It belonged to someone else.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped when a pair of warm hands stroked her shoulders. While she wasn't arguing with the back rub, she knew it wasn't Casey. A glance up the beach told her he was unloading beer out of the jeep.

"Hey, darlin'."

She stiffened.

When she didn't reply, Jim wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.

"Let go of me," Dee said patiently. She didn't really expect him to listen.

She'd spent enough time in the Sheep Pen to have sorted the boys according to what she considered their level of difficulty. Bobby Boyle and Jerry Bragg were 3's –, polite and social. TJ and Don were 8's – social, flirty and not above suggesting ways they could get to know each other better. Jim was a 10 – social, single-minded and more than willing to suggest exactly how getting to know him better could improve both of their lives. She didn't think Greg needed to be sorted. A man with his looks and attitude could have any girl he wanted by raising an eyebrow.

She admitted she had no idea where Casey fit into her scale. She was reluctant to pigeonhole him with a number. Lately she had started thinking about him in ways that went considerably beyond merely social.

"Let go or what?" Jim didn't let go.

"Aren't you here with someone?" she countered. "What happened to Gloria?"

"Glory? She's on duty tonight, couldn't come."

"So you'll hit on anyone who's available?"

"Are you available?"

"No, I'm . . ."

 _Was_ she available? Or was she here with Casey? He'd invited her but it wasn't like they were a couple. She went on the offensive.

"Don't make me hurt you." She said it lightly but turned and fixed him with what she hoped was a warning glare.

Jim ignored her implied threat and squeezed her arm.

"Come on, let's take a walk."

"No, thanks." She dug in her feet.

"I wanted to thank you for mending my shirt." He saw her glance up the beach. "Don't bother saving yourself for Casey, darlin'. He's head over ass about his girl back home. Thought maybe you'd enjoy a little time with a guy who's not spoken for."

She flinched. Had he been reading her thoughts?

"No, Jim, I mean it. Nothing personal but that isn't what I'm looking for."

"Don't make any hasty decisions." He pulled her closer. "At least let me try to change your mind."

 **XXX**

"That's not going to end well."

Anderson hoisted his end of the cooler out of the jeep and nodded toward the beach. Casey followed his gaze and realized with a jolt, what was happening. He saw Dee backpedaling, Jim pulling her into an embrace.

Before he could react, Dee snaked her right foot around Jim's ankle. At the same time, she shoved him hard in the chest and pivoted out of his reach. He toppled off balance and went over backward, landing with a thud on the sand.

"I am _not_ changing my mind." The breeze carried her words up the beach.

Anderson laughed.

"Poor James. Rejected again."

Dee stalked away to join a group of nurses who had been watching the events unfold. Casey noticed her expression was a mix of annoyance and amusement. The nurses greeted her and she said something, then threw her arms out in exasperation and laughed. He saw more than one of the other girls turn to look at him.

Well, he thought, that answered one question. And he caught himself smiling.

 **XXX**

Jim limped over and sat down.

"Remember what I told you when that girl first landed on this rock?" When Casey looked up but didn't say anything, he went on. "For God's sake, don't slug me over this but I still think she's hot for you." He grinned and added, "There's no accounting for taste."

"Mmmmm." Casey's reply was non-committal. If what Jim said was true, he wasn't going to argue with Dee's tastes.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you're not interested. How could you not be interested in _that_? You asked her out here tonight, don't tell me you don't have something in mind for later?"

Casey watched as Dee knelt and coaxed Meatball into giving up the now deflated volleyball. The terrier knocked her off balance and she went flat on her back in the sand. The dog happily sat on her stomach. Casey could hear her laughing.

"I didn't say I wasn't interested," he said finally. He really _didn't_ have anything in mind for later. He hadn't allowed himself to think beyond just asking her to join him this evening.

"Aha! What about Violet?" Jim switched to playing devil's advocate.

"Iris," Casey said automatically. "You're just bitter Dee wouldn't give you the time of day." He stared at the fire as if the answer might be dancing in the flames.

"Didn't see that coming. Girl's got some moves. Bet she's sweet in -

Casey held up his hand.

"Stop."

"If you want my advice –"

"I don't."

Jim ignored him.

"She didn't waste any time telling me where to go." He rubbed a hip, wincing. "But I'd put money on it, if you tried you'd get different results. A lot different."

Greg sat down and handed out beers. Dee had joined a group of nurses who were throwing sticks for Meatball.

"So you finally asked her out?" he said. "I wondered what was taking you so long."

"It's not like that," Casey protested. "I just thought she'd enjoy the bonfire and, well, hell, she wasn't going to come if Gutterman asked her, so yeah, I did, but we're just friends, I'm not . . . she's not . . ." He trailed off.

"You didn't ask me for advice so I won't give it," Greg said, "but I can tell you one thing, juggling two girls at a time does not work. Trust me. Even if one of them lives in a different hemisphere." He grinned. "One woman at a time is enough trouble."

Casey ran his hands through his hair. He was getting a lot of advice about a relationship he didn't even know he was in.

 **XXX**

Meatball finally tired of fetching sticks and the girls came back to the fire. Dee sat down next to Casey, who was deep in discussion with Jim and Greg about a potential trade deal. The 214 had accidentally received several crates of wool socks. Wool socks were the last thing any of them needed. The men thought they could be combined with some other odds and ends, and with a little strategic negotiating, be turned into the engine oil and spare parts the unit constantly needed. Dee followed the exchange with interest. The men's ability to make something out of nothing fascinated her.

In the end, it was decided the socks, along with extra toilet paper, two cases of hand grenades and a small amount of Scotch would head for Munda at the first possible opportunity, where they could be exchanged for a small number of highly sought after electronic components, which in turn could be shipped back to Espritos and traded for the oil that was sitting under Colonel Lard's very nose.

The sun dropped below the horizon and the beach slipped into twilight. The wind had laid and she was no longer in danger of being blinded by her own hair. Dee took off Casey's hat.

"Thanks."

"Keep it," he said. "It really does look better on you."

He reached up and brushed the hair back from her temple, tucking it gently behind her ear. His touch lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary, Dee thought. She was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, her hip brushing his.

"Someone will have to fly over with me and deal with Overton in supply," Greg mused. "He'll want every single transponder accounted for." Dee wondered how he could manage to think about transponders when his companion this evening was practically sitting in his lap. Beth was a brunette with curves that wouldn't have looked out of place as nose art.

The caress of the tropical evening was like warm silk and she found herself sliding into a trance induced by the hypnotic rhythm of the surf. She was half-listening to the men's conversation, letting her mind wander where it would. Flames danced and shadows softened the twilit beach. A light breeze off the ocean teased the logs in the fire, sending an occasional shower of sparks flying skyward on an updraft.

When Casey slid his arm around her, it felt as natural as the wind and ocean and fire. His fingers were warm against the bare skin of her arms and her spine tingled at the simple intimacy. She turned her face toward his. His words hung unspoken between them.

 _Are you all right with this?_

 _Yes. Yes!_

Greg was still talking, either unaware or uncaring that neither of his executive officers were paying any attention. Jim was sprawled on his back with his head in the lap of a tall, auburn-haired nurse named Darlene. Clearly he wasn't taking Dee's earlier rejection of him personally. The fact that Glory would be furious at being so easily replaced didn't seem to bother him either.

She held Casey's eyes.

 _What about you? Are you all right with this?_

 _Yeah, I am._

The quiet curve of his mouth told her he was more than all right with it. She returned the smile with one of her own, her heart pounding.

"Casey, you're good with smooth talk, you can handle things at the supply depot while I distract Lard. He hasn't yelled at me in person for at least two weeks so that won't be hard. Casey?"

 _But what about . . .?_

 _Let's just leave it at this tonight._

"Casey!"

Dee smothered a grin when he jumped but she thought he didn't look particularly guilty.

"Oh for the love of God, you're supposed to be the reliable one," Greg muttered, but he grinned when he noticed Casey's arm around her.

Beyond an "I told you so" smirk from Jim, none of the Black Sheep said anything. Dee thought this was probably because half of them were entwined on blankets with their girls or had already disappeared.

She was surprised at the complete lack of self-consciousness when it came to public displays of affection. Occasionally, two figures would rise, gather up their blanket and disappear into the surrounding darkness, low voices and soft laughter drifting in their wake.

 _On the beach? Really?_

The talk shifted from the black market to the possibility that Colonel Lard's ulcer might eventually do him in, to the line chief's new plan to have the pilots take part in maintenance briefings after each mission. When she stretched, yawning, Casey pulled her around to sit between his legs and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, drinking in his warm, clean scent and letting her fingers twist through his as they watched the fire. The simple pleasure of his touch was intoxicating. She tried not to think beyond that.

The party broke up around midnight when the fire burned down to coals and the beer ran out. There was a good deal of quiet murmuring and promises between couples to see one another again soon as the nurses loaded blankets and hampers into the jeep.

Dee stood awkwardly while the remaining girls kissed their boys goodnight. Casey caught her eye and on impulse, she rose on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you for asking me, this was fun," she said, then climbed into the jeep and headed back to her quarters. She fell asleep, feeling the warmth of his skin under her lips.


	5. Chapter 5

_Editor's note: My stories don't take themselves too seriously so I hope you won't either. I know Corsairs are a single-seat fighter plane and you really can't get two people in the cockpit but this story is nothing if not escapism fantasy, so just escape with me, all right? Thanks. Enjoy._

 **Ch. 5 Heat of the moment**

 **Vella La Cava**

 **VMF 214 HQ**

The flight line baked in the afternoon heat, the air redolent with dust and aviation fuel. The Black Sheep had taken care of business over Bougainville that morning but it had been a hard fought victory and they'd limped home, smoking and sputtering.

Greg had listened to line chief Andy Micklin stomp around and curse about the damage them college boys had done to his planes. _It was going to take his crew all night to make repairs and then they'd just go out and do it again tomorrow_. _Did they think he had a magic wand he could wave and fix everything they'd wrecked?_ Greg appeased him somewhat by hauling the boys out of the Sheep Pen to help the mechanics with basic repairs for a few hours. There were always more repairs then there were hands and time to do them.

A round of catcalls and whistles pulled Casey's attention away from the worn oil line he was helping Hutch replace. He recognized the figure driving a jeep slowly along the line of planes. There was no mistaking those curves.

Dee braked to a halt and stepped out. She was wearing a sleeveless white blouse and khaki shorts, as sparkling clean as he was filthy. She was carrying something. He couldn't tell what it was and to be honest, his eyes were more drawn to her bare legs. They were like the rest of her, sleek and perfectly proportioned.

"Hi." She stopped and looked up the ladder where he was perched. He wondered what in the world she was doing out here. Her visits to the base rarely went past the Sheep Pen.

"Hi yourself." He climbed down the ladder, wiped sweat off his brow and realized too late he'd probably just replaced it with engine oil. He felt like he'd been baptized in the stuff. Hutch disappeared, muttering something about replacement clamps. Casey had a sudden flashback to the supple warmth of Dee's body pressing against his the night before and wondered if she'd had as much trouble falling asleep as he did.

She held up the wrench one of the boys had given her to tighten Bobby's tourniquet her first day on La Cava.

"Dr. Reese asked me to bring this back. Your line chief probably wonders what happened to it."

Casey blinked and refocused.

"Oh, yeah, he's missed it all right. He's accused every single one of us of taking it although I don't know why. It's not like we sneak out here and work on our planes in our free time."

"Is that what's going on this afternoon?" she teased. "I've never seen the Black Sheep actually work." She paused, her smile gone a little shy. "I really had a good time last night. Thank you again for asking me."

"So did I." She was standing close enough he could smell her scent. He remembered how good she'd felt when she snuggled against him and the unexpected promise of her chaste kiss good night. He felt a lot of things when he was around her that he probably shouldn't.

"I should let you get back to work," she said abruptly. "Here." She held out the wrench. He took it without looking at it. The afternoon light accented a dusting of gold freckles across her cheeks. They matched the sun-streaked highlights in her brown hair. Funny, he'd never noticed either of them before.

The wrench slipped through his oil covered fingers and landed with a thud in the dirt.

They both bent to pick it up, his hand closing over hers. Neither of them let go as they stood, faces inches apart. Time spun out in shimmering threads.

It was the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong girl. Everything about it was wrong and for the first time in his life, Casey didn't care. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth across Dee's, so lightly it could have been an accident. The tremor that rocked through him was paralyzing. He stood without moving, his lips a whisper against hers. He could feel energy jolt through her, then circle back into him like an electrical charge on a closed circuit. She took a step back. Her eyes had gone wide with surprise and - he realized - invitation. He stepped into her, pinning her against his plane.

The wrench slid from their fingers again and fell, unnoticed, to the ground. His hands were covered with engine oil. He didn't dare touch her. With his palms braced against the fuselage on either side of her shoulders, he leaned down and kissed her like he meant it.

Her taste was dazzling, her lips full and soft. Raw need tore through him like a whirlwind. She softened, pressing herself lightly against him in spite of his filthy clothes. Any inhibition on his part vanished as her lips parted and his tongue slid across hers. He felt her hands settle low on his waist, pulling him against her with gentle insistence.

He lost himself in the kiss, hot and slow and deep, riding a wave of possession he never wanted to end. His self-imposed ban on touching her only heightened the sensation. He wanted to pull her close, cradle her hips and feel her moving against him, under him, but kept his hands against the plane like they were shackled there. She was trembling. One of her hands slid under his shirt, her fingers cool on his sweat-slick skin. He felt those gorgeous curves pressing against him, teasing with heat and promise.

She broke away suddenly, face flushed.

"I'm sorry, I can't – this isn't right," she stammered. She bit her lip as she ducked under his outstretched arm and was gone. Casey stood, hands still braced on the warm metal, the vibration of her body ringing through him like a crystal bell.

 **XXX**

On the other side of his bird, Greg rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the jeep rumbled off. Larry Casey was the closest thing the 214 still had to a straight arrow although lately the younger man had been showing signs of becoming just as bad as the rest of them.

He was the only one who'd come to the squadron without a pending court martial. Amidst the drinking, the fighting and the skirt chasing, Greg had always been able to count on Casey's organization and level-headed efficiency. The fight he'd gotten into with Jim a while back was just one example of how the rest of the Black Sheep were corrupting him. Greg still wasn't sure what that fight had stemmed from, although if he had to guess, he'd just seen the source.

That was another thing about Casey - his preoccupation with his girl at home kept him from getting snared in the romantic entanglements that fueled so many of the squadron's dust-ups.

At least until now.

Greg watched as Casey bent and picked up something out of the dirt, then gazed at the jeep's dust plume until it faded in the distance. The smile on the younger man's face was bittersweet.

 **XXX**

 **That evening**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Dee trembled the whole way back to her room. She didn't know if she was aroused, scared, angry or some unlikely – and unhealthy - combination of all three. The impact of that kiss kept playing through her mind. It had been unexpected. It had been incredible.

It had been wrong.

He belonged to another girl and she couldn't – wouldn't – get between them. She wasn't a home wrecker and she wasn't a one night stand. She grimaced. This was a fine time to get a sense of honor. She closed her eyes, frustration boiling through her.

He started it, she thought irritably. He asked her to the bonfire. He put his arm around her on the beach. He kissed her. Blaming him made her feel a little better. It wasn't like she'd thrown herself at him. He was one of the Black Sheep and their reputation preceded them. Why had she ever let her guard down? If he thought he could have a girl at home and another one over here, he needed to think again. She should have seen this coming.

Oh, she'd seen it coming all right and she hadn't exactly gotten out of the way, had she? She'd forgotten how it felt to be kissed like that. Wait. She'd never been kissed like _that_. The memory was uncomfortably physical in its intensity.

She shoved her unfortunate conscience to the back of her mind. Who was she kidding? She'd do it again - and anything else he wanted – if she got a chance. Why did men have to be so damned complicated?

"What's going on between you and Larry Casey?"

The suddenness of the voice made Dee jump.

Laura walked through the open door, spun the desk chair around and straddled it. Rain pattered against the window. Laura folded her arms across the back of the chair and fixed Dee with an anticipatory gaze.

Curled up on her bed, Dee dropped the magazine she wasn't reading into her lap and made a face.

"Come in and make yourself at home."

"Are you guys . . . you know?"

Dee exhaled.

"We're not anything."

"Mmmmm. TJ said it sure looked like something was going on this afternoon when you were over there." Laura picked up the white blouse laying on top of Dee's laundry basket. Smudges of dirty engine oil smeared the pristine fabric. "What's this? This didn't happen while you were keeping your distance, did it?"

Dee winced. She'd been a fool to think no one had seen that kiss. It had been broad daylight, for heaven's sake, and the flight line wasn't known for its privacy.

"It was one kiss and it was a mistake. He's in love with a girl at home. He's going to marry her. End of story." Her tone was matter of fact.

Laura snorted.

"You mean the ice princess?"

"What? Her name is Iris. She's very pretty. Casey has a picture of her by his bed."

Laura's eyebrows shot up.

"The ice princess," she repeated. "That's what the boys call her. I guess they all had too much to drink one night and Casey let it slip that she's not exactly a hot time between the sheets."

"Shut up!" Dee closed her eyes. That was an image she didn't need to see. There was no reason for Casey to have ever told her that. It wasn't like they sat around talking about the people they'd slept with and certainly not when it came to the girl he planned to marry. "There's nothing between us. It's over. It never started."

"You are a terrible liar, Dee Ryan! The two of you looked like you were enjoying each other last night on the beach. And so what? She's in Nebraska. You're here. What's wrong with –"

"I'll tell you what's wrong!" Dee interrupted. "He's in love with someone else! He's going to marry her and I'm not getting in the middle of it!"

"I think you already are," Laura said quietly.

"We're friends. He's a nice guy and I enjoy his company and we're just good friends," Dee repeated. Maybe if she said it often enough, she'd start to believe it. She could still feel his mouth on hers, feel the air shimmering with promises that could be fulfilled somewhere dark and private, somewhere there wouldn't be anything between her skin and the lean hardness of his body.

Laura picked up the oil-stained shirt again and dangled it at arm's length.

"I'm good friends with TJ, too, but I don't let him pin me up against his plane and kiss me in front of God and everybody."

"It was one kiss. That's all. It was a mistake." She wasn't about to tell Laura it had left her wanting more than just his mouth.

"One kiss that TJ and Greg and Jim all saw," Laura said. "From the way it sounds, it didn't look like a mistake to them. And they're not calling _you_ the ice princess, trust me."

She checked her watch. "I'd better go. Delmonte will be counting heads soon." She padded out of the room, leaving Dee alone with her thoughts, which were not very good company.

 **XXX**

 **That evening**

 **The Sheep Pen**

On the other end of the island, Casey wasn't having an easier time of it. He had brought a stack of requisitions to work on in the Sheep Pen and regretted the idea almost immediately.

TJ, Jim and both Bobbies scooped away his paperwork and shoved a beer in his hand.

"Spill it, Lawrence. Tell us how you manage to have a sweetheart waiting to marry you at home and a gorgeous nurse who wants to jump your bones over here." Anderson winked and nudged TJ.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Casey muttered.

He knew exactly what they were talking about but anything he said would just encourage them. Of course, acting like nothing had happened would just encourage them, too. Once the Black Sheep got hold of something, they didn't let go easily. By now, the entire squadron knew about that kiss. Half of them had seen it. He didn't care. He would have done it again in a heartbeat but that knowledge wasn't much help when it came to settling the emotions twisting his gut.

"When you gonna ask her out again? Pappy says we've got leave coming up soon. You could take her to Espritos –"

"No," Casey said with finality. "We're not . . . she doesn't . . ."

"Oh, I bet she does," Jim said, arching his eyebrows. "Come on, I told you she was hot for you. She wasn't exactly trying to get away this afternoon."

"Nebraska's a loooooong way from here," Anderson observed practically. "How do you know your girl at home isn't stepping out on you? Come on, carpe diem!"

Casey grimaced. He had wondered exactly that same thing, especially since Iris' letters had grown increasingly distant in recent weeks. He had a gut feeling absence was not making the heart grow fonder. The uncomfortable realization that it worked both ways had crossed his mind more than once lately. The intensity of that single kiss with Dee resonated in his mind in a way five years of Iris' tepid responses never had.

Jim slapped him on the back.

"It's too late to act like nothing happened. A girl who kisses you like that? You'd be a fool to walk away from her."

Casey closed his eyes and took a long pull on his beer. Gutterman's advice was starting to sound reasonable. What the hell was this war coming to?

 **XXX**

 **A few days later**

When Lieutenant Commander Delmonte asked for someone to deliver the results of the quarterly flight physicals to Major Boyington, Dee volunteered without giving it a second thought. She'd drop the files with Greg, maybe have a drink with the boys and that would be it. If she saw Casey, she just wouldn't spend any time alone with him. What could go wrong with that? As long as the other guys were around, they'd go on acting like nothing had happened. They were just friends, right? It was a small island, she was going to have to see him again eventually. After evening mess, she found a jeep and drove to the 214.

It wasn't like she was avoiding him. It wasn't like she was looking for him, either. If she wasn't around him, her resolve not to get in the middle of his future with Iris was a lot easier to stick to. That damned innocent grin and those blue eyes sent her mind off in directions it had no business going. If the rest of him was as nice as his mouth . . . _oh, for the love of Pete, stop it._

Her plan derailed almost immediately. Greg wasn't in his tent. He wasn't in the ops shack or the com shack or the Sheep Pen. No one was in the Sheep Pen, which made her suspicious. That left either the beach or the flight line and Dee thought both places were laid with emotional landmines.

She got back in the jeep and decided to check the flight line first. Delmonte was a stickler for protocol when it came to paperwork. No way was Dee going back to the hospital without having accomplished her mission. She would deliver these damn reports to Greg even if she had to find him in the shower. Wouldn't that be interesting?

Greg was fully clothed and in the middle of a heated argument with Sergeant Micklin when she found him. Dee cleared her throat and swallowed a smile when Micklin took one look at her and sucked in his gut. She handed Greg the files.

"Delmonte asked you to review these and sign off on them."

"Everyone cleared?" Greg asked. He thumbed through the folders while Micklin chewed his cigar.

"Yes." Dee grinned. "But she said next time she was grounding anyone who came in drunk."

Greg shook his head.

"No promises, sweetheart."

"Hey, Ryan."

Her heart leaped into her throat at the familiar voice. She swallowed hard and turned and just like that, her resolve flew right out the window.

"Hey, Casey."

Damnit, he looked good. He was in fatigues and a T-shirt, clean, not the mess he'd been the last time. She was close enough she could smell soap. If she'd come a little sooner, she could have found him in the shower. That thought didn't help her frame of mind.

A not-quite-innocent grin broke across his face and something in her belly began a slow tumble. God, if he only knew what she was thinking, they'd both spontaneously combust, she thought, desperately trying to keep her emotions off her face.

Her heart skipped a beat as his grin widened. He knew exactly what she was thinking. She held his eyes defiantly as she smiled back. She couldn't help it. Being around him made her do things that weren't sensible.

 _Damnit, damnit, damnit._ She scrambled for safe conversation. Greg dropped the files onto the front seat of a nearby jeep and resumed his argument with Micklin. It was showing the promise for violence and she edged away.

"What are you guys all doing out here?" she indicated the other pilots milling around their planes. Casey motioned her to follow him. Against her better judgment, she did. She was pretty sure being around him wasn't safe, but she didn't want to be anywhere near Greg and the line chief if things went south, either.

"Micklin's big idea," Casey said under his breath. "Now he's got us going over maintenance checklists with the mechanics every night after missions."

"That doesn't sound too painful."

"It can be, the way Micklin does it," Casey said, waving a clipboard. "Thank God I came back without a scratch today."

Thank God you come back every day, period. The thought flashed, unbidden, through her mind but she didn't say anything.

Dee followed him around his plane, studying it curiously. It was slightly battered, with an assortment of metal patches and areas that had been repainted but didn't quite match. There were four rising sun flags painted below his name stenciled on the fuselage.

She tipped her head back and looked up. She'd never been this close to the Corsairs on the ground. The last time she'd been on the flight line, her mind hadn't been on planes. She took a few steps back. The prop alone would have made two of her. They really were big. Or maybe she was just really short.

"Hi, Dee!" TJ ducked under the wing. He brandished his clipboard. "Wish me luck. I gotta explain a coolant leak and neither Richardson or I can find the origin." He looked at her. "What brings you out here?" He glanced from her to Casey and back.

"Flight physical reports." She laughed at the look of horror on his face. "Don't worry, you passed. But you might want to be sober next time."

"Hell with that," TJ muttered. "The only way I can deal with blood draws and needles is to be a little lit up. Especially if Delmonte's involved."

Dee was still walking with her head tipped back, absentmindedly studying the plane, when she backed square into Casey. He settled his hands around her waist. She froze, then took a deep breath and relaxed.

"Ever wanted to go up in one?" he asked. His tone was nonchalant, his breath warm on the back of her neck. For some reason, her body refused to move away just because she thought it should.

"Are you kidding?" Something in his tone made her think he _wasn't_ kidding _._ She really should step away from him, just get the hell out of here now before she did something stupid but she couldn't move. She turned just enough to look over her shoulder at him. He grinned and raised his eyebrows. No. He couldn't be serious. Could he?

"I – " Words failed her.

Casey looked her up and down. He looked at TJ and cocked an eyebrow.

"Think she'll fit?"

TJ appraised her thoughtfully.

"Fit where?" Dee said suspiciously. She wasn't sure she liked the way they were both looking at her.

TJ nodded.

"Oh yeah, she'll fit. But it'll be snug." He grinned.

Casey held out his hand. His smile was an open invitation. She wasn't sure what he was inviting her to but her heart had already betrayed her by saying yes.

"Come with me."

Dee's eyes went wide. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. She shut it. Her heart was doing a little jittery thing that couldn't be healthy. He was doing this on purpose. How could he, after what had happened the last time they'd been within two feet of each other? It wasn't safe for her to be around him, he should know that by now.

"Come with you? In that?"

"My car is in the shop."

"I . . . but . . . you . . ." she was backpedaling now and ran into TJ. He caught her shoulders and held her firmly.

Casey grinned.

"Hey, Wiley, let me borrow your mae west."

"With pleasure." TJ let go of her and sprinted off.

"No!" she sputtered. "I can't – we can't -"

"Why not?" Casey was laughing as TJ returned and dropped his life vest over her head. "Turn around." She turned around, still protesting.

"Because! Because you – Casey, this is not a good idea!"

"Why not?" He spun her back around to face him.

"I – you – we can't – " Her voice went up an octave.

"We can. And keep your voice down. Greg hates it when we take girls up but two people really will fit. If they're the right people." His hands were deft on the straps of the life vest. "But I've never done it before," he added hastily. "TJ's the resident expert. And Boyle." He leaped nimbly onto the wing of his plane, stretched into the cockpit, snagged his own life vest and dropped back to the ground. He pulled it over his head, then locked his fingers together and, stooping, nodded at the wing.

"Up."

Dee looked frantically around. TJ was standing with his arms folded, an approving smile on his face. He gave Casey a thumbs up. Dee closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her resolution not to be anywhere alone with him this evening had dissolved like a sand castle at high tide. As if being around him in a public place like the Sheep Pen wasn't bad enough, this was going to be ten times worse.

Or better.

Oh, God, what was she doing?

She stepped into Casey's linked hands and he tossed her up onto the wing. He scrambled up after her, then swung into the cockpit. He extended a hand and she grasped it, swinging breathlessly from toe-holds that were made for men with much longer legs.

Casey's hands wrapped around her waist as she lowered herself onto his lap. This was insanity. She should be running the other way, not climbing into a plane with him. They got their legs sorted out and she perched, tense, half-on, half-off his lap. He slid his left arm around her waist, resting it casually along her thigh. Adrenaline shot through her.

"Ready?"

Dee thought this was a rather rhetorical question. She'd climbed in here with him, hadn't she? If this wasn't ready, she didn't know what was. She bit her lip but couldn't keep the grin off her face. It _was_ kind of exciting. All right. It was a lot exciting.

"Yes." She was still breathless but her heart had quit doing that beat-skipping thing. She probably wasn't going to die of an arrhythmia. At least not today.

"Clear!"

TJ pulled the wheel chocks and handful of nearby mechanics and pilots scattered. Casey flipped the ignition switch and the powerful engine wheezed, then caught. He slid the canopy shut and Dee closed her eyes, then opened them again. She didn't want to miss anything. The plane swung out of the line and accelerated down the strip, the landscape blurring on either side as it picked up speed. She was holding her breath as the ground fell away below them.

Casey took the plane up to 4,000 feet and leveled off. The sky was impossibly blue, the sun a ball of liquid gold sliding toward the ocean. Below them, the water was painted with the dying flames of the day. La Cava was a brown and green smudge.

"Ever been up in anything like this before?" he asked.

"No, only transports, never anything smaller." She was enchanted. "Oh my God, it's beautiful up here! And so peaceful!"

"Yeah, it is, when no one's trying to kill you."

She squeezed his arm. There was that. The only thing she knew about the Black Sheep's missions were the tales they told over Scotch in the Sheep Pen. Those were full of rough humor and an overabundance of testosterone. If they talked about death or fear or self-doubt, they didn't do it when she was around.

They were silent for a few minutes as Casey put the plane through a few lazy maneuvers. Dee relaxed, entranced by the dazzling shimmer of the sun on water and the indigo vault of the sky over their heads. She tried very hard to ignore the heat of his body, pressed against hers in the confines of the cockpit.

"What's it like? Flying in combat?" she asked. The only thing she ever saw was the end result, when the squadron returned and the boys staggered or were carried into the hospital.

His breath was warm against the back of her neck and she fought to keep her breathing steady. He was a friend. They were just friends. Going for a friendly ride. And she was sitting on his lap with his arm around her waist. Again.

"It's hard to describe. Your reflexes take over, you don't stop to think about what you're doing, you just do it. Time kind of stops, it's you and your wingman and the Zekes. Training kicks in, or maybe it's instinct - everything is reflex, there's no time to think."

"Has Jerry always been your wingman?"

"Yeah – sometimes we switch it up but we mostly stick with the same guys. Guess we get to know each other's style. He's saved my butt up here more than once."

She asked more questions. What was that gauge for? What did this lever do? How much fuel did the tanks hold? Where was the ammunition loaded? What had flight school been like? Had he ever had to bail out? Did shark repellent really exist or were they pulling her leg? He assured her it was for real. She twisted to look over her shoulder.

"What's it smell like?" She was intrigued.

"Dead sharks."

"And they say I have a smart mouth!"

"I'm serious! The main ingredient is copper acetate. I don't know what else they put in it but it smells like a dead shark, at least to the sharks."

She gave up and laughed, leaning into his embrace. His hand was warm and light on the bare skin of her leg and she realized there was nowhere else she would rather be than right there with him. She shoved Iris uncomfortably into the back of her mind.

The sun was starting to set when they headed back. Casey put the plane down in a silk-smooth landing and Dee was surprised at how disappointed she was that it was over. He lifted her down from the wing and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the jeep.

"Casey!" Greg's voice bellowed from somewhere down the flight line. He didn't sound happy. "What the hell were you doing up there?"

Casey looked at Dee, his mouth curved in a smile.

"Testing some equipment upgrades!" he yelled in Greg's general direction.

Dee arched her eyebrows.

"Equipment upgrades?"

Casey shrugged.

"He's gonna chew my ass for taking you up. Might as well make it sound good."

Dee couldn't keep the smile off her face. She braced her palms on his chest. The breeze blew her hair across her face and they reached up at the same time to brush it back. He ran his thumb across her lower lip. She kissed it, unable to stop herself.

"Thanks, that was . . . fun." That didn't even start to cover it and she knew it. "I hope Greg leaves your ass in one piece." She reached around with one hand and squeezed his butt. "It's kinda cute." She was gratified to feel him jump but he didn't pull away.

"Any time, Ryan." His smile set her nerve endings on a slow burn. She got in the jeep and left while she was still in control of her faculties.

All right. Fine. She admitted it. She couldn't keep her hands off him. She wanted him and she wanted more than just his body. Her mind poked around the edges of that thought, reluctant to touch it directly. She had no business falling in love with Larry Casey. None at all.

 **XXX**

Casey watched her go. What the hell was he thinking? He had a girl waiting for him back home, picking out china patterns and bridesmaids. He didn't know what had possessed him to take Dee up in his plane but in one evening, she'd shown more interest in what he did over here than Iris had in the last year.

He knew Greg was going to give him hell for it, but it had been worth it, inviting her into his world and watching her as she discovered it. The soft heat of her body against his had made it even better. All he knew for sure was that he didn't feel guilty about it at all.

 **XXX**

 **A week later**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

The letter was on his bunk when he got back from the morning patrol. He knew it was trouble the minute he saw the address, oddly formal in the familiar, perfect script: _Second Lieutenant Lawrence Casey._ She never called him Lawrence. Never.

He read the letter. It was short and to the point. He read it again, staring at Iris' careful penmanship like a man watching a historic artifact crumbling to dust in his hands. The sense of gradual detachment he'd felt over the last few months had become a final reality. The fraying fibers that had connected Nebraska to the Solomons had snapped, setting him cleanly adrift.

She'd dumped him.

It didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it should have and to make it worse, he didn't know if the pain he _was_ feeling was because she'd dumped him or because he'd believed in the emptiness of their relationship for this long.

Now that he was faced with the reality of it, he had to admit he'd seen it coming. It wasn't a surprise. But he'd loved her. Once. Before the war. Before he realized love was more than holding hands at the church picnic and being the town's perfect couple.

Love meant wanting to be around another person, wanting to be part of their life. He wasn't sure if he was in love with Dee Ryan but he sure wanted to be around her. She kept showing up in his life so it appeared she wanted to be around him, too. And one thing was painfully clear - Iris didn't want to be around him at all. She and Danny Kilpatrick were to be married after the wheat harvest.

There went five years of his life he wouldn't get back.

Well, balls. They deserved each other. He wished them all the best.

Where did that leave him?

He knew exactly where it left him - standing in front of a wide open door with Dee on the other side. But they were just friends, right?

He snorted. Yeah. He needed to get over that. He wasn't in the habit of kissing his friends. Not to mention the night on the beach. What in God's name had he been thinking when he put his arm around her? But she hadn't argued, and she'd felt so good in his arms, so comfortable and so right. Like she enjoyed his touch. Like she wanted to enjoy more. Which made him want to give her more.

He didn't even feel guilty about the beach or the kiss on the flight line or taking her up in his bird although technically, he'd still been promised to Iris at the time. God, women could create a confusing jumble of emotions just by sitting down next to you. No wonder Jim and Greg never stuck with one girl for long. When things started to get sticky, they just moved on to something less complicated.

He knew what the nurses said about boys who ended one relationship and jumped immediately into the next one. Dee would think he wasn't any better than the rest of them, just another flyboy looking for the next good time. His laugh was tinged with irony. When it came to romance in the South Pacific, he was still looking for the first good time.

He stood and headed down to the beach. He needed some peace and quiet to get his thoughts in order.

 **XXX**

 **Later that afternoon**

Dee stuck her head into the com shack where Jim and TJ were trying to fix a piece of radio equipment. It was in about two dozen pieces, scattered all over the floor.

"Have either of you seen Casey?" She suspected if he were anywhere around, the whatchamacallit would not have been so thoroughly dismantled. He could usually coax the base's most reluctant electronics to life with a minimum of damage.

"I saw him head down to the beach a while ago." Jim eyed her from where he was sprawled on his back on the floor, half underneath the large console. "Anything I can help you with, darlin'?" His eyes raked her bare legs.

She regarded him coolly.

"No."

"You'll never know until you try. Still think I could change your mind."

"No."

He surveyed her. "You look fine today."

"I look fine every day," she snapped and walked out.

Behind her, Jim turned to TJ.

"If she ever gets her hands on Casey, there won't be anything left of that boy but a pile of ash."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 Insomnia and engine oil**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

Casey was sitting at the base of a palm tree, staring out at the water. He looked up when Dee dropped onto the sand next to him.

"Jim told me you were out here. I have the rest of the day off and . . . what's wrong?" His face was oddly emotionless and his usual welcoming grin was absent. He didn't say anything, just handed her a folded sheet of paper.

"Read this."

She opened it, saw the handwriting and stopped.

"But it's from Iris, are you sure -?"

"Yeah. Read it." There was no anger in his voice but his body language radiated hurt. "Please."

Reluctantly, she smoothed the paper on her leg. It was brief, a single page.

" _Dear Larry, it is with genuine sadness that I am writing to say good-bye. Our relationship is over. In all honesty, perhaps it has been for some time . . ."_

Feeling like an intruder, she hastily scanned the next few paragraphs. The message was clear. _Too much time apart . . . . uncertainty of the future . . . I've met someone who shares my dreams. . . blah, blah, blah . . ._ She winced inwardly, then handed the letter back. Casey crumpled it into a ball and began idly picking it to shreds.

"I'm sorry." She wanted to touch him but didn't, unsure of his reaction.

"Don't be." He turned to her. She could read the emotion etched around his eyes – pain, anger, confusion. "I think it's better this way."

"She has no idea what she just gave up." Dee stopped abruptly, realizing she probably wasn't entitled to an opinion on this particular subject.

"She knows exactly what she gave up. I don't think she ever really wanted me in the first place."

"What in the word are you talking about? You two had been together since when, your sophomore year in high school? I thought . . ." Dee let her voice trail off.

He didn't answer her directly and when he finally spoke, his voice was full of doubt.

"Have you ever been with someone who only wanted you because they thought that's what everyone else expected them to do?"

Confused, Dee shook her head. She hadn't.

"It didn't start that way." Casey finished shredding the letter and let the breeze take the tiny pieces. "I think we had something good, at least it started that way. We really were friends for a while, she was fun to be around, it seemed right. . ."

"Then what happened?" She didn't want to pry but she wanted to understand.

"Then we slept together."

Dee jolted upright. That wasn't what she expected to hear. She remembered Laura's comment about the boys calling Iris an ice princess.

"What did sex have to do with it?" she asked, too surprised to mince words.

"I don't know." Casey met her gaze and she could tell he was almost as uncomfortable saying it as she was hearing it. "Honestly, I don't. But things changed after that. I always thought it was supposed to make a couple closer, you know? Sharing . . . that."

"It doesn't." Dee spoke without thinking. She felt color coming up in her cheeks. "It doesn't if you don't really . . ." She faltered, then tried again. "Sometimes people just aren't right for each other. You can't fix that in bed. I mean, it's just going through the motions when there's no true feeling to go with it. If neither of you care, it doesn't matter. . . but if one of you really cares and the other one doesn't, well, it doesn't work."

She watched him break into a reluctant grin.

"And you know this . . . how?" he asked.

Dee looked away, praying the sea breeze would blow the heat off her cheeks. What was she doing, sitting here in broad daylight, talking about sex with a boy who'd just gotten dumped by the girl he planned to marry? A boy whose kisses turned her inside out. What was it about him that made her do things that didn't make sense?

"Larry Casey, a gentleman does not ask a lady questions like that," she said, trying to sound offended.

"No one has ever accused the Black Sheep of being gentlemen."

"I think some of you are."

They sat in silence for a minute, then she put a hand on his arm. He reached out and twined his fingers through hers.

"Will your parents be disappointed?" she asked. "I mean, if your families were close . . . and they thought you two were going to get married?"

He shook his head.

"I don't think so. They're pretty level-headed. They'll figure it's all for the best. But one of my sisters probably went over to there and read Iris the riot act when she found out. Mae's a lot like you."

Dee raised her eyebrows.

"And how's that?"

His grin was genuine this time, his blue eyes tinged with humor.

"Mae tends to say what's on her mind and whoever's on the receiving end had better shut up and listen."

They sat, not speaking. She wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face in his neck, tell him how sorry she was that the girl he planned to share his life with hadn't felt the same way. She _was_ sorry, not because Iris was out of the picture but because of the hurt she'd caused. She hated that lost look on his face, all the arrogance and teasing stripped away to reveal the raw emotion.

Dee had worked around pilots long enough to know that underneath the bravado, the choking levels of testosterone and good ol' boy charm, they were just as vulnerable as anyone else. Having a sweetheart to share your life should mean having someone who had your back through good times and bad, not someone who stabbed you in it when you least expected it.

"Are you all right?" she asked finally. "You're not going to go jump off a cliff or anything?"

"I'll be fine." His voice tugged at her heart. He didn't look all that fine.

His looked haunted, like he'd lost something he'd treasured, only to realize its value had only existed in his mind. Dee knew the feeling. She'd known the brief, casual trysts she'd had in England had never been intended to last, but when they'd ended she'd felt cut adrift and oddly at a loss. That couldn't even come close to what he must be feeling now, she thought.

A small piece of her heart was turning cartwheels and she silently told herself to get a grip. This wasn't the time or the place. It would be predatory to take advantage of a guy who was so emotionally bruised. Besides, just because he'd kissed her once, that didn't mean anything. Did it? Her mind chose that moment to rekindle the scorching memory of that kiss and she shifted uncomfortably, remembering his body against hers. Except for the night of the plane ride, they hadn't spent any time alone together and she'd started wondering if both incidents had been real or simply a fantasy brought on by too much Scotch, too little sleep and too much stress at the hospital.

"You look a little peelie-wallie," she observed.

"Peelie-wallie?" He grinned and the lines on his face relaxed. "Is that your professional medical opinion, Lieutenant?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "It is. And I have just the cure. Come with me."

 **XXX**

Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting on the beach again, a picnic hamper between them. The sun was slowly melting into the ocean, painting the sky a mad watercolor of pink and lavender.

"Nothing like fresh air and good food to raise your spirits," Dee said optimistically.

Casey laughed.

"Okay, nothing like fresh air and food," she amended, grinning. She stuffed the meal wrappings back into the hamper and pulled out a bottle of Scotch.

"Is that the same one you took away from Jim that day in the hospital?" Casey asked. "You're sure nursing it along."

"Hey! I don't sit around and drink by myself!" she said tartly. "I spend more time coming over here to drink your Scotch than you spend coming to drink mine." She pulled out two glasses and splashed whisky into them. She handed one to Casey.

"What shall we drink to?"

He looked out at the ocean, then said resolutely, "To good-byes."

Dee pressed her lips together. She could still feel emotion radiating off him. He was one great big ball of it. Not pain, exactly, more like tension overlaid with something she couldn't pin down.

"I'm sorry it ended this way." She put her hand over his. "I really am. It's never easy to say good-bye, especially when it's not your idea."

"It might not have been my idea but I think it might have been the best idea Iris ever had."

Dee blinked.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't think we were ever meant to last, no matter what everyone else thought. We grew up together, started going around together in high school and I think everyone just assumed we were meant for each other. Neither of us knew enough to see it any different. I think our whole relationship was always someone else's idea and I'm glad she finally realized it."

She took a deep breath.

"I'm changing the toast," she said boldly. "Here's to new beginnings."

Casey raised his glass and clinked it against hers.

"To new beginnings."

Dee closed her eyes, let the whisky burn down her throat as she turned her face toward the setting sun. When she opened them again and set her glass down, Casey was watching her, his lips curved in a quiet smile.

"I don't want you to think I'm . . . but . . ."

He reached out and caught his fingers in her hair, held her eyes briefly, then kissed her. It was brief but not tentative and Dee felt bubbles rising through her blood like fine wine. He pulled back, smiled and kissed her again, slower, deeper. She could feel him balanced on the knife's edge between hunger and control. She was right there with him.

Heat rose through her. Even as her lips parted, she heard the warning bells going off in her head. He'd just had his heart torn out and stomped on. He needed to prove something. She wasn't going to be able to say no. She didn't want to say no.

Her body rose in response to his promise. She silently offered herself to him and felt him accept. He started to press her down onto the sand when a voice called out from behind the screen of bushes along the nearby trailhead, a blunt reminder they weren't very far from the base.

"Hey, kids, is this a private party or can we join you?"

They both jumped, breaking apart. Casey's hand rested on her neck, his face inches from hers.

Jim was walking down the trail to the beach, one arm around Darlene's waist, a bottle dangling from his other hand. The red-haired nurse from Kentucky politely kept her eyes averted in respect to Dee and Casey's privacy. Dee caught her breath and shoved her heart back down her throat. Casey held her gaze, his hand caressing her neck. Her heart was pounding so loudly, he had to be able to hear it. Every nerve in her body tingled.

"Was that the new beginning?" she whispered.

"Do you want it to be?" His voice sounded shaky.

She put her hand on his chest, delighted to feel his heart beating as fast as hers. Her answer came without hesitation.

"Yes."

He leaned forward and kissed her again. She really didn't care who saw them and matched the heat of it. The boy kissed like a fallen angel. Need pounded through her as his tongue swept across hers.

Jim clearly had no reservations about interrupting them.

"What the hell, Casey? It's still daylight!" He sounded mildly impressed.

Darlene rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Hi, Dee," she said as they approached.

"Hey, Dar."

The red-haired nurse looked sideways at Casey, then back at Dee and raised her eyebrows. Dee matched her smile. Oh yeah. This was gonna be all over the hospital before the sun came up tomorrow.

"Greg's cooking up some new scheme and wants your input," Jim said, cheerfully oblivious. "He sent me down here to find you." His eyes flicked to Casey's hand, which was still resting on the curve of Dee's neck. "Unless you don't want to be found."

"You're already here," Casey sighed. "And I don't suppose you'd just go away."

Jim chuckled. "Geez, what would Lily say about this?"

" _Lily_ is no longer in the picture," Casey said firmly.

Jim's mouth dropped open in genuine surprise.

"No shit? When did that happen?"

Dar slapped him on the chest.

"You're about as sensitive as a rock," she said. "First you drag me down here and interrupt two people who clearly want to be alone, then you act like Larry owes you a status report on his love life. Jim Gutterman, you can be a complete idiot sometimes."

Dee made a choking noise. _Love life_ was pushing it just a bit.

"Who's a complete idiot?"

Dee looked up to see Greg, accompanied by Beth and Meatball, crossing the sand. He was carrying an armload of driftwood. He dropped it in a pile and began building a fire.

"Apparently, anything that carries a Y chromosome," Dee said. "The jury is out on the present company."

The men chose, wisely, to let that pass. The girls shared a collective grin. Meatball tried to steal one of Dee's shoes. She couldn't remember taking them off.

"What's up?" Casey asked, after a small fire was crackling and the whisky had made several rounds. It was near dark now. A faint orange rim of sunlight glowed on the horizon and a sliver of new moon hung low in the sky.

"Let's just call it a strategy session," Greg said. "There are too many ears in the Sheep Pen and the fewer people who are involved, the better. We gotta come up with a plan to deal with Overton on Espritos. He's in control of half the engine oil in the Southwest Pacific and he acts like a miser sitting on a hoard of gold. In the meantime, we've got birds grounded because they'd seize up before they hit the end of the runway. I know Lard's put the word out on us. We're not gonna get a damn thing out of that man through regular channels."

Dee listened to the men tossing ideas back and forth and watched the flames dance. This was nice, she thought, comfortable, no expectation of anything more immediate than just sitting on the beach and plotting the downfall of unsuspecting supply sergeant.

She wouldn't have argued with going somewhere more private and following up on the unspoken potential of that kiss but it was probably better not to rush things, she thought. The girl he'd planned to marry had just walked off with someone else. She didn't want to be a short-term rebound relationship that flamed out almost as soon as it started. She valued their friendship and wanted it to continue. She wanted a few other things, too, but it looked like they were going to have to wait.

Dee leaned her head on Casey's shoulder and he pulled her closer. She tried to concentrate on what they were talking about but the warmth of his arm around her waist and the scent of his skin were distracting. Casey was doing a much better job of staying focused on the black market than she was. He was clearly in his element. The men had discarded a number of plans to solve the engine oil problem and were moving on to ones that could be executed without anyone ending up in the brig. This seemed to be a recurring – and justifiable - concern.

Dee wondered if her status among the squadron had been elevated or if her inclusion in this inner circle of the Black Sheep's CO and his execs indicated she had completely fallen from grace. It could go either way.

 **XXX**

"So you got a _Dear Larry_ letter?" TJ's voice crackled over the radio. The squadron was on its way home from a routine patrol over the Slot the next morning.

Casey sighed. By now, the news of his and Iris' demise had spread from one end of the base to the other, thanks to the 214's brutally efficient grapevine. Not only was the distant Iris out of the picture, the little brunette nurse with the cute ass and smart mouth was most definitely in. He didn't care that everyone knew but it was going to put both him and Dee in the spotlight and he wasn't sure how she would feel about that.

As if getting caught kissing her on the flight line hadn't been a delicious enough scandal, getting caught kissing her on the beach the same day the _Dear Larry_ letter arrived had been even better as far as the Black Sheep were concerned. Interest was running high and it was clear the whole squadron had his six when it came to wanting this relationship to blossom. Or maybe they just didn't have anything else to think about right now.

"Hey Bragg, you're gonna have to find somewhere else to bunk now that Casey's got himself a girl who isn't 5,000 miles away," Boyle teased. "I bet there are gonna be some sleep-overs."

"Stow it, Boyle, it's not like that!" Casey snapped. But he couldn't help smiling. No, it wasn't like that. Yet. He didn't know _when_ it would be like that but he'd be lying to say it hadn't crossed his mind.

"Oh, it will be soon enough, my boy!" Anderson said as if in confirmation.

The rest of the squadron was quick to chime in.

"You'll be making up for lost time!"

"And you got a _lot_ of lost time to make up for!"

"I hear the beach is nice this time of year."

"Yeah, but make sure you take her far enough out somebody doesn't interrupt you at a critical moment, right French?"

"Shut up, Jim."

"Can't recommend going inland. A bug bit me on the butt –"

"The nurses' quarters are great, but if Delmonte catches you, she'll string you up by your –"

"Will you guys knock it off! Haven't you ever enjoyed spending time with a girl when her clothes are still on?" Casey sputtered.

There was a moment of surprised silence, then TJ said, "Why would we want to do that?"

Greg's voice came over the radio. His tone was one of resigned humor.

"Great, Casey," he said. "Now I've got to worry about hauling you out of the nurses' quarters, too."

"At least you always know where to find us, Pappy!" Boyle said cheerfully.

 **XXX**

 **Several weeks later**

 **Vella La Cava**

Casey picked Dee up that evening and they drove back along the beach until they reached a small cove about halfway between the base and the hospital. The water was azure, the sand was diamond white and the sunset was spectacular.

"This is beautiful," Dee said as they spread a blanket. "This may be the most beautiful place on the entire island. I didn't even know it existed."

"I thought maybe you'd like to get away from . . . you know . . . everything . . . for a while." Casey sprawled on his back next to her, hands behind his head.

Everything and everyone, she thought.

Dee liked the Black Sheep just fine, which was good, since time spent with Casey usually equaled time spent with the rest of the boys, too, either in the Sheep Pen or in some form of party on the beach. She loved the way they had welcomed her into their boisterous camaraderie from the start but being around them was like living under a microscope.

They were entirely too nosy for their own good. Constant sexual innuendo and double entendre came as naturally to them as breathing but there was only so much she could take before she wanted to scream at them to go get their own girl and go get laid and stay out of her and Casey's business.

"Thanks," she said. "This is a nice change." She stretched out on her back next to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They lay, watching as the stars winked on, pinpoints of silver on indigo. "I suppose they all knew we were coming out here?"

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"No." She honestly didn't care if the Black Sheep knew what the two of them were doing. Or not doing. She had to admit the latter was causing her an unexpected level of frustration.

There weren't many places on the island that offered enough privacy for any sort of real intimacy. She'd heard some of the boys' stories about being interrupted on the beach or elsewhere and honestly didn't blame Casey for not pressing for anything beyond a little making out. There were some things you didn't want your buddies walking into, even if it _was_ accidental.

It wasn't like they could go to the nurses' quarters either. Delmonte had taken to doing random bed checks and if there was hell to pay for not being where one belonged at the appointed hour, Dee couldn't imagine what would happen if the lieutenant commander found one of the Black Sheep where he didn't belong, either.

Not that it stopped the boys from going there anyway. Stories of near escapes at the quarters were rampant. While the boys laughed when they told them, she knew it hadn't been a laughing matter when they'd been climbing out windows with their clothes in their hands.

Still, where there was a will, there was a way. Considering the boys' devil-may-care approach to life in general, Dee was a little surprised her private time with Casey seemed to be on-going exercise in self-control on both of their parts.

"They don't." Seeing her puzzled look, he added, "know we're out here tonight. I didn't tell anyone where we were going."

Dee watched as the flaming curve of the sun vanished into the water.

"Are they always like this nosy about relationships? And the endless teasing?" she asked. "It's not just you and me, is it?"

"No. They go after Greg a lot, especially when he's with a nurse who's younger than him, which is pretty much all the time. And Jim, too. But that's a matter of principal because he's never with the same girl more than a couple of weeks. And there are usually some running bets on who'll score with the new nurses. It's a form of entertainment here."

"Mmmmm. A bet?" She tried to sound offended. "Were there any bets about me?"

"You? No!" he said hastily. "Well, Boyle started one on whether I'd ask you out."

"Just if you'd ask me out? Not if you'd sleep with me?"

He tipped his head sideways and met her eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"No. Just if I'd ask you out. It's kind of an unspoken assumption, if a girl goes out with a guy more than a couple of times, they're gonna, well, you know."

"Oh really? After a couple of times? Isn't that a little presumptive?" She couldn't keep the humor out of her voice. "Since you brought it up . . . we've . . . um . . . _gone out_ . . . more than a couple of times."

He rolled up on an elbow and Dee caught her breath at the half-serious, half-embarrassed look on his face. She would have sworn he was blushing but it was too dark to tell.

"Dee?" His voice was hesitant. "I gotta ask you something. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Just tell me if I'm out of line."

"What?" She couldn't imagine him asking her anything that was out of line. He was polite, gentle and thoughtful to a fault. Sometimes she just wanted to throw him on the closest horizontal surface and see what was beneath that nice guy veneer.

"Girls really do enjoy it, don't they? Sex, I mean? The guys aren't just pulling my leg with their stories about . . . things? If you don't know, that's okay, but if you do know, that's okay, too."

She blinked. She hadn't seen that coming.

"Yes." She said slowly, her mouth curving into a smile. "We enjoy it just as much as men do . . . if the man is, um, thoughtful . . . and takes his time about it."

She saw the doubt in his eyes.

"Iris didn't. No matter how thoughtful I was."

"Are you sure? Maybe she was just the quiet type."

He laughed wryly.

"I don't think so, trust me."

Dee rolled onto her stomach and propped herself on her forearms. She leaned forward and kissed him, let her lips brush down his neck.

"Her loss."

He didn't say anything but reached out and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. A shower of sparks cascaded through her.

"God, Dee . . ." He took a deep breath. "I want to make love with you, but . . ." he trailed off again. " . . . but I really like what we have right now and I don't want to ruin it."

Dee made an inarticulate noise. She wasn't sure she'd heard anything after "I want to make love with you."

"What if we do and . . . you don't like it? It's not like we can just go back to being friends, is it?

"Larry Casey, you are the sweetest boy I've ever met." She bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You aren't some kind of deranged pervert, are you?" She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"I don't think so." His mouth twitched. "Kimball County Lutherans aren't very deranged."

Dee thought about the men she'd slept with. None of them had ever laid themselves open to her like this. It was clear they expected the physical act to yield all the satisfaction required. Now she realized what had been missing. In a few halting sentences, Casey had given her more than any man ever had. She took his hand and kissed his wrist, felt his pulse quicken. Hers did, too.

"How many girls have you slept with?" she asked, trying to keep her mind focused. Oh, it was focused, all right.

"One."

"I don't think that's enough for a definitive evaluation of whether girls like sleeping with you or not."

"What about you?"

She fought to keep a straight face.

"I haven't slept with any girls."

"Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble, Lieutenant."

"I've heard that before."

He kissed her and rolled her onto her back. When she struggled deliberately, he caught her arms and pinned her with his body.

"If I let go of you, will you behave?" he asked, pressed hard against her. That was making things worse. She shifted under him, unable to be still. His body invited all kinds of response.

"Define _behave_ ," she whispered.

He rolled to one side and lowered his mouth to hers again. No matter how many times he kissed her, she couldn't get enough of it, the shape of his lips, their heat and gentle pressure.

He broke off the kiss. His face was etched in moonlit shadows and she saw that blend of hunger and uncertainty in his eyes again. She reached up and stroked his cheek.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you?" she whispered.

"No." His tone rang with that innocent honesty that made her feel totally not responsible for anything that might happen next.

She ran her tongue along his lower lip. His mouth opened, letting the kiss deepen as he pulled her closer. He brushed a hand over her breast, her nipple already gone hard as she pressed against him. He traced it with his thumb, his touch light but with an unexpected confidence. His hand shifted to the top button of her blouse. She met his eyes, barely daring to breath. He held her gaze, smiled lazily, and opened the button.

"I don't remember giving you permission, Lieutenant," she said softly.

In response, he opened the next button.

"I don't remember asking permission, Lieutenant."

He kissed her again and she was helpless. Something inside her went molten as he spread the fabric and traced his index finger along the edge of her bra.

"Pink silk? This doesn't look like Navy regulation to me."

"How would you know?" she whispered. His mouth caressed her neck, working slowly lower.

"Educated guess." His words were lost in the hollow of her throat, his fingers continuing to free buttons with a skill she found both surprising and arousing. The breeze played across her bare skin as he pushed her shirt open. His fingers caressed her from throat to bellybutton as his mouth brushed her breasts, teasing over her nipples through the thin silk. She shuddered with pleasure, felt his breath catch.

She worked her hands under his T-shirt. He was all lean, wiry muscle and she could feel his skin tighten as her fingers trailed down his back. She wrapped a leg around him, moaning softly as his body pressed against her in a response as old as time. His touch was a study in sensuality, slow and deliberate. She was trembling as he stroked the slight concave of her belly and started to slide lower.

His hand was on the button of her shorts when he jerked back and pulled away.

"God. No. We can't."

She sat up in a tangle of surprised confusion.

"Evidence speaks to the contrary," she said, the heat of his body still throbbing against her.

"Yeah. Well." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I didn't bring . . . we really can't."

Reality hit, abrupt and obvious.

"Oh."

She buried her head on his shoulder, not sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.

"You didn't think of that before we came out here?"

She knew the men had easy access to condoms, either at the base or the hospital. The nurses joked that the 214 might run low on engine oil and replacement parts but there was never a lack of birth control.

"I didn't plan . . . I didn't bring you out here to . . ."

"You brought me to the most romantic place on this rock at sunset and didn't intend to . . .?" She was wordless with disbelief.

"Well. No. I didn't. I just wanted to get away from . . . them." He jerked his thumb back toward the base. "I didn't expect you to . . . I wasn't sure you'd want to . . . on the beach . . ."

"You're hard on a girl," she said softly. She would have taken him damn near anywhere at that point and knew he was – belatedly – realizing it. She watched his gaze travel over her, could feel it against her skin like a tangible thing. Her shirt was still hanging off her shoulders, her dark hair loose in the breeze.

"You're beautiful in pink," he said and the heat of his smile had her teetering on the brink of throwing caution to the wind. God, it was tempting but she didn't want to pay the piper in nine months. She swallowed hard.

"I'm beautiful out of it, too."

 **XXX**

Dee couldn't sleep.

Little wonder. The irony of the evening was delicious. Never before in her life had she been with a man who seemed more concerned about her pleasure and safety than his own. That, plus the fact Casey had been enough of a gentleman to stop things before they reached the point of no return, made her ache for him even more. He had more self control than she did, she thought, punching her pillow.

His blend of honor and not-quite-innocence was intoxicating.

Infuriating.

Insomnia-creating.

They'd sat on the beach for a while, watching the stars, before he drove her back to the base well inside of Delmonte's curfew. If she'd let the good-night kisses go on a little bit longer, and a little bit more thoroughly, than was strictly necessary, well, paybacks were hell. If she couldn't sleep, he wasn't going to, either.

She wondered if it would have been completely inappropriate if _she'd_ been the one to tuck a condom into her pocket before leaving for the evening, although honestly, she'd had no idea where their evening was headed until it got there. She'd discovered, to her surprise, that the former occupant of her room had left a stash of the items in question in the drawer of the bedside table. Apparently, the nurses on La Cava were not above looking out for their own needs.

She rolled onto her stomach, buried her face in her pillow and let loose with a long scream of frustration. It didn't help. Who would have thought her well-being would have been so carefully guarded on an island where she was surrounded by men with the worst reputation in the South Pacific?

 **XXX**

Greg emptied the whisky tumbler and set it on the bar with a thump. The rest of the squadron could tell he wasn't happy and they knew it had nothing to do with the morning's mission. In typical Black Sheep fashion they had located and laid waste to the Japanese destroyer lurking off the coast of Bougainville, coming back with barely a scratch. TJ had nearly lost it when his landing gear malfunctioned but TJ and malfunction went together so naturally no one really thought anything of it anymore.

"It appears Sergeant Overton has had a change of heart about that oil," Greg said, glaring. "He says the 149 on Rendova offered him four cases of Scotch plus plumbing fixtures for outdoor showers for the same stuff. He's all about the plumbing fixtures and is taking their offer over our transponders. They're delivering this weekend."

"What?" French yelped indignantly. "We had to trade good Scotch for those transponders. We thought that's what Overton wanted."

"Apparently he wants copper pipe and shower heads more. The 149 doesn't even need that oil, which makes it even worse. They'll just trade it on and we'll get it eventually but at twice the price." Greg paced in agitation.

"So what happens now? If Hutch don't have oil to put in our birds, we're gonna have some real short missions," Jim mused.

Greg spun on his heel and stabbed a finger in the air.

"We'll do it the old fashioned way." He grinned. "We'll steal it."

This brought a hum of interested approval.

"How we gonna do that, Greg?" Casey looked skeptical. "Walk in there and load it up when he's not looking?"

"Exactly! We'll get Overton preoccupied with something else and get the oil off Espritos before he knows what happened. We won't really steal it. We'll give him the fair price he agreed to, but we're going to beat the 149 to it and show him what happens when he reneges on a deal with the 214."

"And just exactly how's that going to happen?" Jim crossed his arms and leaned against the jukebox.

"I have it on good authority Overton is pathologically afraid of hospitals," Greg said, pacing. "A nurse I've been, um, keeping company with there said he nearly tore up the place when he had to go in for a routine physical. So we'll tell him he needs to report to the hospital for an exam or a vaccination or something – anything. He won't go, of course, because he's stubborn as an Army mule. So we convince him it can be taken care of right there in his office at the supply depot, without having to go anywhere near the hospital. Then we -"

" _We?_ You got a mouse in your pocket?" Don interrupted. "He ain't gonna let any of us touch him. And I'm pretty sure none of us want to touch him."

"Exactly. We need a nurse, one who's not afraid to tell men where to go and how to get there." Greg's eyes lit on Casey. "Can you get Dee to help us? Tell her she'll get a 24-hour pass to Espritos out of it."

"Oh hell, Casey, you can give her more than that!" Jim whooped.

"Oh yeah!" TJ chimed in. "You can totally make it worth her time. She's not gonna tell you no and you know it."

Casey closed his eyes as the ribald suggestions came thick and fast.

"Okay, okay!" He held up his hands. "I'll ask her! Seriously, you guys . . ."

By now, the whole squadron thought they were sleeping together. They'd jumped to the obvious conclusion the night he and Dee had disappeared from the base for a few hours and he hadn't even tried to set them straight. It wasn't any of their business and it wouldn't have done any good anyway. Nobody loved a happy ending like the Black Sheep, even it if was only in their imagination.

He had a feeling it wasn't going to take much to convince Dee to go along with the scheme.


	7. Chapter 7

**Silk Stockings Chapter 7 - Black Sheep, blackmarket, blackmail  
**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214**

Dee parked the jeep in front of the Sheep Pen and got out. As she walked up the steps, laughter erupted, rolling out the windows into the tropical dusk. It sounded even more boisterous than the boys' normal high spirits. She stepped through the door and silence fell almost immediately, every face in the room turned to her with an air of anticipation. She froze. What a rogue's gallery, she thought, looking from one grinning face to the next. What in the world had she just walked into?

Casey was leaning with his back against the bar, long legs crossed negligently at the ankles. His grin held more than just a friendly welcome warranted. _Damnit!_ She wished he wouldn't look at her like when there were other people around. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks and no one had said a word. Greg and Jim gave her appraising looks.

 _Oh, this could not be good._

Greg stepped to one side and took her upper arm.

"Sweetheart, your timing is perfect," he said. The look on his face only added to the heat on hers. He knew she was oblivious to his charm but he turned it on anyway. She narrowed her eyes at him. He just grinned.

"Dee, darlin'," Jim took her other arm. "I believe you're just what we need."

Before she could protest, they propelled her the length of the room, bringing her to a stop in front of Casey. His eyes sparkled and he had a renegade's smile on his face. He reached out and grasped her hands. With Greg, Jim and Casey all holding onto various parts of her, Dee was starting to feel like she might spontaneously combust.

"Honey, we need a favor," Casey began.

Dee had no idea what in the world he could possibly want but she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to say no.

 **XXX**

"Major Boyington has requested a medical officer accompany the 214 to Espritos Marcos on 24-hour leave," Lieutenant Commander Delmonte said. "Apparently several of the pilots have ongoing conditions that require monitoring."

Her tone suggested she doubted the authenticity of this request. As usual, the very mention of Major Boyington or anything remotely connected to the Black Sheep cast a glare of disapproval over her features. Now she focused that glare on Dee. "Not only that, he requested you specifically."

Dee tried to look surprised. She actually _was_ surprised. She hadn't been sure they really meant to pull off this ridiculous caper. When Casey told her about it, her reaction had fallen somewhere between suspicion and flat-out laughter. Then she'd realized they were serious. Not only were they serious, they acted like the proposed caper was the most logical thing in the world. And she'd agreed to it because all a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed fighter pilot had to do was look at her and good sense flew right out the window.

She tried to keep her expression neutral. Delmonte was still talking.

"I have no idea what is going on here and as much as this is against my better judgment, I try to cooperate with other branches of the service when possible. I won't have any of those boys lacking for medical attention on my watch. And your conduct has been exemplary. You're overdue for leave in any case. Here's your pass." Delmonte handed Dee a slip of paper. She sighed. "Ryan? Try to remember you are still held to the Navy Nursing Corps code of conduct, no matter where you are."

"Yes, ma'am," Dee replied.

She took the pass and fled. If Delmonte knew how she'd been conducting herself lately, she wouldn't let her out of her quarters, let alone off the island.

 **XXX**

"Hurry up!" Dee had one hand on her hat and one hand clamping her bag across her lap. "Those boys don't like to wait when it comes to their R and R."

"I don't think they'll leave without you," Laura said, downshifting as she pulled the jeep to a stop at the edge of the air strip. As if on cue, the pilot turned over the engines and the waiting C-47 powered to life.

"Have fun!" Laura yelled over the roar. The grin on her face told Dee just exactly what kind of fun she expected her to have. The two had sat up late the previous night, discussing the possible contingencies. Dee had her doubts any of them would come to fruition but when the Black Sheep were involved, there was no telling what might happen.

Dee swung out of the jeep and with one hand still holding her cap, sprinted across the dirt and up the steps. She waved and Laura returned the wave, then put the jeep into gear and took off. A corpsman tossed Dee's bag in after her and slammed the door.

The plane began moving before she'd found a seat and she lurched, almost losing her balance. She accepted steadying hands as she climbed over the men's legs. What in God's name was she doing, going off with this lot, especially with the caper they had in mind? How in the world had she let Casey talked her into this?

"You can sit here, darlin'," Jim offered, patting his leg. She glared at him.

"Not a chance. At least wait until we get airborne before you start harassing me."

She tucked her skirt and wedged herself between Greg and Casey.

"Thanks, Ryan, I knew we could count on you," Greg said.

"I haven't done anything," she protested. "Don't thank me yet."

"The future of the Black Sheep is in your hands," Greg said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes.

"Thanks – no pressure."

"We've seen you work under pressure. Besides, Casey says you've got great hands."

Dee turned to Casey and arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't think gentlemen kissed and told." She tried to glare but couldn't keep the grin off her face. He gave her a thousand-watt smile and Dee knew the warmth that surged through her had nothing to do with being crammed inside a transport with 20 men on a mission that had train wreck written all over it.

 **XXX**

When they landed on Espritos a short time later, the men made great pretense of heading for the officer's club. Casey grasped her forearms.

"You know what to do."

"Yes." She was a little breathless. She straightened her cap and gathered her bag. Checking her wristwatch, she said, "I'll see you at 1900 for dinner." _Or when they throw all of us in the brig, whichever comes first._ She had no desire to witness court martial proceedings from a first person standpoint but it was a little late to worry about that now.

She flagged down a midshipman in a passing jeep.

"Could I impose on you to take me to the supply depot?" She shifted her body slightly and smiled. The man's eyes temporarily went out of focus.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd be glad to."

Dee winked at Casey. "See you later."

 **XXX**

Sergeant Eugene Overton looked up from his hand of solitaire as Dee stepped through the doorway of the supply depot.

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"Lieutenant Dee Ryan," she said briskly. "And you are Sergeant Overton?" He nodded slowly, as if he weren't entirely sure. Dee made a show of checking something on her clipboard. Overton clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. No wonder Greg was so sure this scheme would work. "I don't know if you are aware or not but a new strain of malaria has been detected in the area and all personnel are to be tested for it."

Overton pulled a face.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I don't got malaria."

"I didn't say you do." Dee tapped her clipboard, trying to look impatient. It wasn't hard. "But I'm here to make sure you don't. Personnel infected with this new strain don't show symptoms until it's too late."

He studied her suspiciously.

"Too late for what?"

"Too late to effect a total cure. Oh, you'll recover eventually but the long term effects can linger for years, especially with men."

He grunted.

"What kind of effects?"

"Well, sergeant, that's a discussion you'd want to have with your doctor. I'm really not comfortable talking to male personnel about, well, the inability to perform," she said primly.

Overton swallowed audibly.

"Whattaya gotta do to test for this?"

"Just draw some blood samples."

"I don't like needles."

"Can't get blood out of you without them," she said briskly. _Unless I hit you over the head with a brick and it may come to that._ "I'm here to escort you to the hospital. My orders are to bring in all personnel with last names beginning with N to Q today."

He flinched visibly at the mention of the hospital. Perspiration started to bead on his temple.

"Well now, what do you say we don't do it at all?"

Dee set her clipboard on the counter with a loud crack.

"You don't have a choice, sergeant, and I don't have all day. I understand the last time you were required to appear at the hospital, it took two MPs to get you there. I've got four MPs waiting outside the door just in case you're of a mind to get frisky." She paused and watched him swallow hard, his eyes shifting sideways as if he were contemplating making a break for it. "Or if you prefer, I can do the blood draws here if you're willing to cooperate."

"You can do it here? No hospital? How long will it take?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"Not very long at all, but you'll have to sit quietly for at last 30 minutes after I'm done."

"Thirty minutes? What fer?"

"If you're infected, even a slight blood loss can cause dizziness and fainting." She gazed innocently around the depot. "You could pass out and get seriously hurt, especially when there's no one else here."

"Well, all right then. But I'm telling you, I don't got malaria."

"For your sake, sergeant, I hope not, the men tell me it's terrible. Lucky for you, its 100 percent curable if caught early." Dee beamed at him. He was sweating profusely now. "Shall we step into your office? Draw the blinds please, it's important that the blood samples not be exposed to direct sunlight." When he glared suspiciously at her, she added quickly, "It can create a false positive and if that happens, we'll have to retest again in a week. If you'll just roll up your sleeve, we can get started."

Reluctantly, the big man lumbered into his office. Behind his back, Dee flashed a thumbs up and the four MPs waiting on the veranda of the supply depot disappeared into the nearby warehouse.

 **XXX**

Dee thanked the sweating, shaking Overton for his cooperation and left him sitting in his office. She gathered her equipment, wondering what she was going to do with three vials of blood from a perfectly healthy, albeit not very bright, man. She stepped out of the supply depot in time to see a C-47 taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Someone wolf-whistled and TJ pulled a jeep up to meet her as she walked down the depot steps. Casey, TJ, Jim and Bob Anderson had pulled MP armbands off their sleeves and traded helmets for caps. They greeted her in tearing high spirits and soon the five of them joined the rest of the squadron for drinks and dinner at the officers' club.

There were multiple toasts in Dee's honor for her part in the heist.

"Everything go all right?" Greg asked. He'd done his part by being in Lard's office, receiving a dressing down for a litany of sins, when the caper had been pulled off.

"She was great, I'm telling you, she had Overton scared spitless," TJ said. "I think she's even better at this stuff than Casey."

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ryan," Greg said, refilling her glass. "You have the Black Sheep's gratitude."

" _That's a discussion you'd want to have with your doctor_ ," TJ mimicked. "We about fell off the porch – we knew you had him then. No way was he going to take a chance with the _inability to perform._ That was classic! Where'd you come up with that idea?"

"It was a spur of the moment idea," Dee confessed. "But you were right about one thing, he really did _not_ want to go the hospital. It wasn't too hard getting him into his office."

"Nice touch making him wait 30 minutes after you drew the samples," Casey said. "We had the oil loaded and gone before he ever knew what happened. We left the transponders and a note saying it was nice doing business with him and the next time he tried to back out of a deal with the 214, he was going to lose more than a few vials of blood."

"Don't you worry about him reporting it?" Dee found the men's approach to black market dealing – as well as blackmail – rather cavalier. But then, she'd agreed to be part of it, so she really didn't have any room to talk.

"If you were Overton, would you report it?" Jim asked. "Sweet little nurse sells him a song and dance about a new strain of malaria and keeps him distracted while inventory disappears without a trace? Nah, he's not gonna try to explain any of that."

"Sweetheart, you have all the makings of an honorary Black Sheep," Greg said, lifting his glass. "Casey, see to it you make it worth her time, we may need her again."

"I'm not sure you can afford me," Dee said, joking. "I'm not cheap."

"Well, darlin', I reckon we could all help you out if Casey can't pay the bill," Jim said with a familiar leer.

"Shut up, Gutterman," she retorted. She was still oddly self-conscious at how easily the boys joked about sex. Now that she and Casey were established as a couple, it was clearly assumed they were getting horizontal – or vertical - at every possible opportunity. She dared a glance at Casey. He was laughing but to his credit, she thought he looked a little embarrassed, too.

"If I need anything from you, Jim, I'll knock on your door. Until then, keep your fly zipped." She bared her teeth in a smile that had the rest of the boys howling. They were still laughing when Colonel Lard stopped at their table. He surveyed the group with a pained look on his face.

"Boyington, it might interest you to know that within an hour of you and your merry band of pirates showing up here, eight barrels of engine oil vanished into thin air from the supply depot."

"We've been in the officers' club all afternoon," Greg said. "Except for the hour you spent telling me how you plan to court martial me. Sir."

Lard glowered.

"The supply sergeant swears there must have been an error with the initial inventory report but I think he's covering something up." Lard scowled around the table. His eyes fell on Dee.

"Lieutenant Ryan, how nice to see you again," he said in a choked voice.

"Likewise, sir," she replied.

"I hope the transfer to La Cava is working out well for you."

"It is, sir. I'm enjoying the challenge."

"Not a day goes by that we don't find new ways to put her skills to use," Greg said.

Dee felt heat rising in her face and sipped her drink. Then she set her glass firmly on the table.

"Are you feeling well, Colonel? You look a little flushed." Her voice radiated professional concern. "I hope you're not coming down with that new strain of malaria."

Jim started to laugh, then turned it into a coughing fit. Anderson pounded him helpfully on the back.

"Thank you for your concern. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow when the Black Sheep are off this island. Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant, although I'd advise you to watch yourself around this bunch." Lard glared at Greg, nodded to Dee and left.

"Casey, make sure you pay this girl," Greg said, grinning broadly. "In fact, I'd pay her double, at least."

 **XXX**

They spent the evening in a whirlwind of drinks, dancing and watching the other boys try to hook up with available female personnel. Jim and TJ kept buying Dee drinks, apparently under the impression they were doing Casey a favor. Finally, she protested, "You realize I don't need to be liquored up to say yes to him, don't you?"

TJ thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Is that true?" he asked Casey.

Casey laughed in turn and said, "She hasn't told me no yet."

He caught Dee's eye. Her lips curved in the hint of a smile and her dark eyes sparkled. She hadn't told him no and he was pretty damn sure she wouldn't tell him no, but so far he hadn't had the opportunity to find out. The universe seemed to be conspiring against them. Between the war in general, the lousy weather, her duty schedule and the agonizing lack of privacy, they were back to necking in jeeps and not sleeping well.

It was coming on midnight when Casey caught Dee smothering a yawn and offered to walk her back to the female personnel's quarters. A squall was blowing up when they left the officers club. The scent of rain hung just offshore. He met her eyes and knew they were thinking the same thing. He wrapped his arm around her waist as they strolled down the sidewalk.

"So much for a romantic walk on the beach," he said. "And it's not like I have a private room I can smuggle you in to."

She leaned against his shoulder and they walked without talking. Time together was precious, even if they'd barely had two minutes alone that evening. They were a block from the nurse's quarters when the rain began to fall in earnest, fat drops pelting down with increasing intensity.

"Go on back," Dee said, turning to him. "I'm almost there. There's no sense in you getting soaked. I'll see you in the morning."

She stretched up and kissed him, fast and hard, then turned and ran with admirable speed in high heels toward the building. Her scent lingered on the wet air, teasing with promises that were, once again, destined to go unfulfilled. He sighed. When it came down to it, the privacy issue on Espritos was no better than it was on La Cava. The luxury of having someplace secure and private enough to make love without the constant threat of being interrupted was almost unheard of. Lightning cracked overhead and he sprinted back through the gathering storm to the men's quarters.

Anderson looked moody and disgruntled when Casey keyed into the four-man suite he was sharing with Bob, Jerry and TJ.

"Didn't expect to see you back here tonight," Bob said. "Figured it would take you a little longer to make sure Dee was, um, well paid."

TJ was already asleep – or passed out - a cherubic smile on his face. Jerry was snoring, the noise competing with the thunder outside.

Casey shrugged. In spite of the other boys teasing him about spending the night with Dee, when it came down to it, unless you held the rank of major, you didn't get private rooms on leave and they all knew it. Although he was gritting his teeth with frustration, after that afternoon's adventure and the encounter with Lard at dinner, he was just glad they weren't all spending the night in the brig.

Casey kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie.

"I could say the same for you," he countered. "Things not work out with what was her name? Elaine?"

"Things didn't work out with anybody," Bob grumbled. "My visions of cozying up with sweet Elaine did not materialize. Or sweet Donna. Or sweet Linda. Hey, did you hear that?" Bob paused, looking toward the window. Lightning flashed, painting the room in silver, followed by a volley of thunder.

"What?" Standing closer to the room's interior wall, Casey hadn't heard anything but the storm. He pulled off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

"That! There it is again. It sounds like – "

"Yeah, I heard it that time."

Casey crossed to the window and looked out into the pouring rain. Dee was standing on the ground a few feet below. He yanked the window up and stuck his head out.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I didn't know there was a curfew! The doors were locked when I got there and I don't dare disturb the ward matron – she's one of Delmonte's cronies. If she got word of this, I'd never get out of the hospital again. I've already dodged the MPs once - they think there's a prowler running around. Oh crap! Here they come again."

Through the rain, Casey could see the headlights of a jeep approaching from the end of the street. He flung the window wide open.

"Come on, we'll pull you up! Bob! A little help here!"

Dee took off her pumps and tossed them over the sill as lightning split the sky again. Leaning out, Casey and Bob each took an arm. With a fair amount of grunting on their parts and wiggling on hers, they pulled her through the window. She landed in an undignified heap on the floor.

"Lights!" Casey snapped. Bob hit the switch and plunged the room into darkness just as the jeep's headlights swept across the face of the building.

"Thanks!" Dee was breathless and soaked. Casey reached down and pulled her upright.

"The two of you couldn't have just found a nice, dry supply shed to spend the night in, could you?" Bob said as Casey tossed her a towel.

She blotted her hair and plucked at her wet uniform. "Ugh."

"Take it off," Casey said, eying her dripping figure. "I'll hang it in the bathroom." He turned to pull a hanger out of the locker. When he turned back, she was standing with hands fisted on her hips, laughing.

"Take it off? Just like that? What about them?" She rolled her eyes toward TJ and Jerry. Bob was watching with a grin, not even trying to disguise his interest.

Casey chuckled. It wasn't often he had her at a disadvantage. This evening might be looking up after all.

"Let's see, your options are, A, we toss you back out the window and you walk back and explain to the ward matron why you missed curfew." He circled her, eyes traveling over her disheveled clothing. "Option B, you stay here and sleep in a soaking wet uniform, or C, you take it off." He was clearly enjoying himself. He waved an arm at TJ and Jerry. "They're dead to the world. They won't care you're here."

"He's not." She looked pointedly at Anderson, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Even in the shadows, it was clear he was still grinning. He raised his hands and turned around.

"All right, all right. I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

Dee glared at Casey.

"What? I'm supposed to strip down and dive into bed with you, with three other guys in the same room?" she sputtered. "I don't think so."

Casey dug through his bag and held out a T-shirt.

"You can put this on before you dive into bed with me." His mouth was twitching. "God, Dee, all the times I've dreamed about sleeping with you, this wasn't what I had in mind."

Bob made a strangled noise.

Dee stretched up on her toes and grabbed a handful of Casey's shirt. She yanked him forward. With her mouth inches from his ear, she said, "The only way I'm staying here tonight is if you absolutely promise to behave yourself. I want you but it's not happening with an audience."

He slapped her on the butt. The sound of his hand against her wet skirt was loud.

"Behave? I thought you liked misbehaving."

"Are you decent yet?" Bob asked. He was still staring at the wall.

"No!" Dee started to unbutton her blouse, fingers fumbling on the wet cloth.

"Want some help?" Casey offered.

"No!"

"Want me to roll your stockings down for you?" He was grinning.

"No!"

"Lawrence, if you ever intend to bed this young woman -," Bob started.

"Shut up, Anderson," Dee snapped, but there was no heat in her voice.

Bob ignored her and continued.

"- getting her to say yes might be the first step."

"Yes!" TJ mumbled in his sleep. "God, yes!"

"You shut up, too," Dee said through clenched teeth.

She turned to Casey. "And you –" She made a wiggly little motion with her hand to indicate he was supposed to turn around. He didn't, just raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"You are impossible," she spat.

"Maybe, but it's so dark in here I can barely see your outline, let alone anything else." A flash of lightning painted the room silver, revealing quite a bit of anything else. Dee flung her wet shirt at him, then peeled off her skirt and stockings. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure Bob still had his back turned, she unhooked her bra and added it to the pile. Casey couldn't take his eyes off her. She was gorgeous.

"Damnit, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." The lightning flashed again, sculpting her in silver and shadow. She was nearly nude, clad only in the wispy silk of her panties. Her breasts were perfect, high and taut, nipples hard with cold. Casey swallowed. The slender curves of her body were triggering a response that wasn't going to make the night easy but it was too late to turn back now.

She wiped off hastily with the towel and pulled his T-shirt over her head. He stepped out of the room to hang her dripping clothing in the shower across the hall. Bob stripped down to his skivvies and climbed into his own bed. He mentioned, loudly, several times, that he was exhausted and would sleep very soundly tonight.

Casey looked at Dee and pointed at the nearby bed.

"Ladies first," he said. The look she gave him was so molten he wondered briefly if this was really as good of an idea as he'd first thought.

"You don't mean . . . we are not . . ." her dark eyes were wide. "I thought you'd . . ."

"Yeah, sweetie, we are. I'm not sleeping on the floor."

"Casey, that's a single bed! We both won't fit!"

He stepped forward and yanked back the sheet. He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You can sleep on the floor if you like."

She glared at him but the corners of her mouth were twitching. With a dramatic sigh, she climbed into bed, making it a point to pull the T-shirt down to mid-thigh even though the room was dark, two of the boys were sound asleep and Bob was facing the opposite wall. Casey slid in behind her. He could feel the soft heat of her body and groaned inwardly. While having her stay here overnight was the logical solution to sending her back to deal with Commander Lund at the nurse's quarters, the reality of sleeping with her barely clad body pressing against his was going to create an entirely new set of problems. The girl was the most incredible tease without even trying.

"What's going to happen in the morning?" she whispered.

"You'll be dressed and out of here before anyone else wakes up. I'll walk you to the mess hall, then back to your quarters. It's Sunday, if anyone asks, we'll tell them we went to early Mass. Are you Catholic by any chance?"

"Methodist. You?"

"Lutheran. But I reckon we can fake it."

"Larry Casey, you are impossible."

"Not really." He kissed the back of her neck, felt her stiffen slightly, then relax and press against him.

"Behave yourself," he said quietly, "or I won't be responsible for anything that happens next."

She wiggled closer and nestled her bottom against him. He groaned, deliberately shifting away from her. It wasn't easy, given the narrow confines of the bed.

"Damnit, Dee . . . you're not going to make this easy are you?"

"You should have thought about that before you got in here." Her voice was unapologetic. "You really might be more comfortable on the floor."

 **XXX**

Dee lay in the darkness, Casey's arm warm around her middle. His breathing was slow and regular. If he wasn't asleep he was doing a good job of faking it. She wasn't sure if she couldn't sleep because she was half naked in a military barracks with four Marines or because she was half naked in a military barracks with one Marine in particular.

She'd been all too aware of his body as he drifted off to sleep and cursed the odds that all three of his suite-mates had found themselves without companions this evening. Of all the nights for the legendary Black Sheep charm to fail.

Casey shifted in his sleep, wrapping a leg partially over hers. Oh for the love of God, _that_ wasn't going to help any. She wanted to shove him onto the floor. Or just take him right there and pray to God the other boys were sound sleepers. It wouldn't take long. She felt like a coiled spring that would take only the lightest touch to release. She could imagine his fingers stroking -

 _Stop. It._

She sighed and resigned herself to a sleepless night.

 **XXX**

"Dee? Honey? Are you awake?"

She was now. She shifted amidst the tangle of sheets to meet Casey's eyes. Her T-shirt was rucked up past her hips and his hand was warm against her belly. While not unpleasant, she knew this was going to cause all manner of complications if it didn't stop. She grasped his hand, removed it and tugged her shirt – his shirt – down.

"What time is it?" she asked muzzily.

"Time for you to get dressed if you're going to church." He planted a kiss on the curve of her neck, his lips teasing into the hollow of her throat.

"Church. Yeah." Her mind was picking up where it left off last night and church was the last thing on it. "Stop that or I swear to God, I'll -"

In the bunk next to them, TJ sat up. He scrubbed a hand across his face and blinked.

"Dee? What are you doing here?"

"Leaving." Her answer was prompt and she captured Casey's hand again before it could roam any further. "So just go back to sleep while I get dressed."

TJ showed no interest in going back to sleep. Bob and Jerry were still dead to the world. Dee swung her feet to the floor, making a concerted effort to keep the shirt around her thighs. She twisted to look at Casey. She wished she hadn't. He was sprawled on his back, one arm under his head, hair mussed from sleep and a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She couldn't stop the small, frustrated noise that escaped her.

"Get up and watch the bathroom door so I can get dressed," she ordered, trying to sound like she was in charge of the situation. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Casey rolled out of bed.

"All right, come on," he said. "I don't think anyone else is going to be up this early but I'll keep an eye out.

"You kids probably have time for a shower before anyone else wakes up," TJ suggested, grinning.

Gathering her dignity, Dee fled.

 **XXX**

"You're up with the chickens this morning, Lieutenant," Commander Lund observed when Casey handed Dee politely up the steps to the entrance of the nurses' compound.

"We went to early Mass," Dee said, casting her eyes down demurely. They hadn't gotten anywhere near the base chapel but if anyone needed to go there, it was her. And Casey had damn well better be there, too. He was no better than she was.

"How kind of your young man to escort you to church."

"Yes, ma'am, this is Lieutenant Larry Casey, with VMF 214."

Lund cast an appraising eye over Casey and Dee realized, with an odd flutter, that he looked better than she did – his uniform was clean and pressed, while aspects of hers were decidedly wrinkled and still a little damp. She winked at him and bid him good-bye. Turning toward the corridor where her room was, she heard the commander clear her throat behind her.

"Lieutenant Ryan?"

Dee swallowed and turned.

"I commend you for getting up early on your leave to go worship, but I suggest you take more care with your presentation," Commander Lund said. "That uniform looks like you slept in it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you?"

"Did I what, ma'am?"

"Sleep in your uniform?" Lund gave her a pointed look.

"Oh, no, ma'am." _I certainly did not._

"I didn't think so."

Another pointed look.

Dee fled to her room before Lund decided to pursue that line of questioning.

 **XXX**

The Black Sheep were hungover, half asleep or both as they all climbed onto the transport back to La Cava. Dee squeezed onto the bench between Casey and Jim. She'd found an iron and pressed her uniform back to something near regulation crispness, but that didn't stop Anderson and TJ from sending her knowing glances. She glared at them. It had little effect.

Their grins drew the other boys' attention. By now, the story of her getting locked out of the nurses' quarters and spending the night in Casey's bed before making a sunrise escape was epic. It was usual for the boys to break into the nurses' quarters but none of them could remember the opposite ever happening. Jerry was disappointed he'd slept through the whole thing.

"How'd you sleep last night, darlin'?" Jim asked. "You didn't come knocking on my door so I guess Casey gave you all you could handle."

Dee narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's none of your business," she hissed. But she couldn't stop the laughter that was bubbling up. The whole episode had been insane, from start to finish. She'd been out of her mind to expect anything resembling a romantic getaway when this lot was involved.

"Don't kill him, sweetheart, that would make a lot of extra paperwork," Greg said. He tipped his hat over his face and closed his eyes.

As the transport leveled out, the boys drifted off to sleep or into quiet conversations reliving the last 24 hours. Dee turned to Casey. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she stretched up until her lips brushed his ear.

"You still owe me for this insane caper," she said and bit him gently on the ear lobe. "And one of these nights I'm going to collect."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Conduct unbecoming an officer**

 **Somewhere over the Solomon Slot**

He felt like his left arm had been run through a meat grinder. If he could just pull it up tight to his body, that might staunch the bleeding but the slightest attempt to move it sent nauseating pain rolling through him. He gave up. Vomiting would only make things worse. If that was possible.

His blinked to clear his vision. There was blood everywhere. It had soaked through his flight suit and was spattered over what was left of the canopy. He thought he could hear his life draining away, one slow, crimson drop at a time.

He could work the rudder pedal with his right foot but moving his left leg sent fire screaming through that side of his body. He thought his ribs were broken but he didn't know. He'd never had broken ribs before. It hurt to breathe. Not a problem. He'd just use his right foot for both rudders. And maybe not breathe quite so much.

"Casey? Casey! Level out. You're doing fine, we're almost home." Greg's voice echoed in his headset.

His vision started to go black around the edges again and he fought to keep his focus. Wind howled through the shattered canopy, making it even harder to concentrate. To his right, he could see the red and white blur of multiple kill flags on Greg's Corsair, flying level with him. Beyond the blood, he could see TJ just off his port wing.

"You're doin' fine, Casey," TJ said. "You fly better half blown up than I do in one piece. You got this. You get that bird on the ground and Doc Reese'll put you back together in no time."

Below him, the green-brown blur of La Cava seemed to be looming at a reckless speed. He was nearly there. He couldn't bail out. He was hurt too bad. He'd never survive getting splashed even if he could have gotten his mangled canopy open. The Black Sheep had talked him all the way home from the mission, taking turns keeping him conscious after the nightmare of that flak field. TJ told him dirty jokes. Jim swore at him. Bobby Anderson quoted obscure poetry until Casey begged him to shut up. Greg was the calm voice that was impossible to defy, as if he could keep Casey's plane in the air by sheer force of will.

After all that help, it would be a shame if he got this far and didn't make it, Casey thought. Micklin would read him the riot act if he crashed on landing. For once, his bird was coming back in better shape than he was. His bird could be repaired. He wasn't sure if he could.

"Greg, you'll tell her, if I don't make it . . . you'll tell her. . ." His voice faded as he struggled to keep his focus.

"Damnit, Casey, you can tell her yourself! Just set that bird down in one piece and you'll be fine." Jim's familiar snarl sounded like it was coming from somewhere far, far away. "What the hell have you been waiting for, anyway? How do you expect to get a classy girl like that on her back if you don't tell her?"

"Not everyone has your moves, Gutterman," he said. His speech was slurring as his mind struggled to pick the right words. He had to focus on staying in the air. He couldn't think about Dee. Not right now. There were two islands below him. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. Back to one. Good. He was pretty sure one landing was going to kill him. Two were out of the question. "Hey Jim, you sound like hell. You get hit on the head again?"

"Not near as bad as you." Jim's voice was fading. "Thanks for being the sponge on that last pass."

"You owe me one . . ." Casey wanted to elaborate on some of the potential things Jim could owe him but he couldn't think of any. In fact, he couldn't think of anything at all except pushing back against the tendrils of darkness that were trying to pull him under.

"Casey! Stay with me! You're coming in on final approach. Drop your landing gear," Greg ordered. "Watch your speed! Ease it back now. Atta boy, you're doing fine."

He'd done this so many times before – exhausted, hungover, shot up, missing parts of his plane, hell, even on fire a couple of times. He'd taken flak before, landed in a pile of hurt, but never this bad. There'd never been this much blood, this much pain. He let his mind go on auto-pilot. Don't think about it. Just do it. Let muscle memory take over. He watched the airstrip rise up to meet him, felt his tires hit and bounce. Pain lanced through him at the impact. The tires hit again, his bird spun, slowed, stopped, then mercifully, everything went black.

 **XXX**

Dee automatically checked her watch as the squadron flew over the hospital on their return from the morning's mission. If anyone had gotten hurt – or even if they hadn't - it usually took the boys about 45 minutes to start straggling in. After they hit the head and the Sheep Pen, not necessarily in that order, they'd show up to have their alleged injuries treated and soak up some TLC from the nurses.

There was nothing more romantically appealing than an injured pilot and the boys knew it. Dee privately thought more relationships were started in the hospital's treatment rooms than in the alcohol-fueled atmosphere of the Sheep Pen. Submerged in a stack of quarterly reports, she was surprised to hear jeep tires slam to a halt outside the front door less than 10 minutes later.

Laura looked up from the instruments she was loading into the autoclave.

"They're early today," she said.

The hospital door banged open and someone yelled, "We got a couple of men hurt bad!"

With her heart in her throat, Dee bolted through the door. Dr. Reese and Laura were hard on her heels.

Greg was helping Jim out of the jeep at the bottom of the steps. The taller pilot was moving under his own power but blood ran down his face and neck. The open collar of his flight suit was stained dark brown overlaid with scarlet. TJ and Bragg were lifting someone out of the back of the jeep. The pilot's head lolled away from her. Whoever it was, he was not moving under his own power. It didn't look like he was moving at all. Dee scanned for Casey, didn't see him. She looked around frantically. He always came to the hospital with the other boys, whether he was hurt or not.

"We took a lot of flak this morning." Greg's voice was tight. "These two got the worst of it. Dee - "

Reese shouted for help, interrupting him. Two medics rushed out of the hospital with a stretcher and swarmed around the fallen pilot, blocking her view. The hot metal scent of blood hung on the air. Dee's mind blocked out the chaos and narrowed to that silent, calm place where she dealt with trauma. Jim was right in front of her and bleeding profusely from several head wounds. She began evaluating his injuries, a task made harder by the fact he wouldn't hold still.

"Take care of Casey first, he's hurt worse than me," he said, pushing her hands away.

 _Casey?_

Her breath stopped as she jerked her head to see TJ and Bragg lowering the unconscious pilot onto the stretcher. Reese and Laura knelt beside him, their hands moving with practiced efficiency. She could see his blond hair now as someone peeled off his helmet. His blood spattered flight suit contrasted with the paleness of his skin,. He wasn't moving, wasn't making a sound.

 _No!_

Icy fingers squeezed her heart. Words she'd never found the right time to say burned through her mind with the searing realization that now she might never get to say them. She stood, momentarily stunned, her mind a vortex of spinning emotion. As much as she wanted to heed Jim's request, she froze, motionless. She took a deep breath and yanked her eyes away from the silent figure being tended on the stretcher. She stuffed the tangle of her thoughts into the back of her mind. There was no time for it now.

"Reese and Laura are handling it," she said with grim determination. "They've got him. Be quiet. Let me – "

"No, Dee, you need take care of him first." Jim grabbed her wrists. "I'll be all right. He's . . . he's hit bad. I don't know how he set down without losing it." Jim staggered, reeling, and she and Greg grabbed opposite arms to steady him as he pitched forward.

"You're not exactly in one piece yourself, Captain. Would you like to bleed to death now or later?" Dee climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep and wrestled Jim's protesting arm down to examine the side of his blood-soaked head. "You've got a couple of good gashes on your hard head and it looks like your upper arm is sliced up pretty good – will you be still! For the love of God, I can't tell –" She got hold of the zipper on his flight suit and yanked it down to his waist, then shoved the fabric back to inspect the wounds across his chest and shoulder.

"Bossy woman. But I'm starting to see what Casey likes about you."

"If he's half the gentleman I think he is, he won't tell you what he likes about me." Looking over her shoulder, she raised her voice, "I need a medic over here!"

A man appeared immediately and helped her apply dressings to Jim's wounds. Her fingers worked with efficiency born of practice. Her eyes flicked past Jim as TJ and Bragg carried the stretcher bearing Casey's still form up the steps of the hospital. Laura was bent over him, her face a study in concentration as she started an IV line while they were moving. A medic was putting pressure on field dressings. Reese was shouting orders to nurses to prep for surgery. They vanished through the front doors.

 **XXX**

Dee tied off the final suture and clipped the silk. Jim gingerly raised his arm, winced, lowered it.

"So help me God, if you tear out any of those stitches, I'll let Dr. Reese put them back in and his hand isn't nearly as neat as mine." She studied the Texan. He looked a little white around the mouth. "You aren't going to pass out on me, are you? Lay down if you are. If you fall and hit your head, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Are you done sticking me with sharp things?"

"For now."

"Then I'm probably okay."

"Captain, how do you feel?" Reese stepped into the room and examined Dee's handiwork. "I see you've been sewn back together by the finest seamstress on the island. You realize the only thing that kept you alive was your unnaturally hard head?"

Dee snorted.

"How's Casey?" She and Jim asked at the same time.

Reese sobered.

"The only reason that boy's still here is because the good Lord wasn't ready for him yet. We're gonna have to pump some blood back into him and hope it doesn't all leak out." He glanced at Dee. "The boys are waiting in the hallway."

"I'll round up the usual suspects," she said and left the room before either of the men saw the tears in her eyes.

 **XXX**

Dee's insides were twisting in ever-tightening knots but she kept her mind on her job. This was helping Casey more than sitting by his bed, eaten up by worry. She picked up a bottle of alcohol.

"You know the drill."

Greg rolled up his sleeve. Dee wiped the inside of his elbow with disinfectant.

"Every time I come over here, I end up feeling like a pin cushion," he grumbled, but gave her a dimpled grin. She grinned back. She couldn't help it. His presence was reassuring.

"Comes with the blood type, everybody wants you," she said briskly and began laying out supplies. "Make a fist."

Greg watched as she tied off his arm, slid the needle into the vein and released the tourniquet. Blood flowed into the tubing and began to collect in the bottle.

"You have great veins," she said, trying to maintain professional detachment. Her mind was bouncing around her skull like a trapped animal. She wanted to see Casey, let him know she was there, sit with him, hold him, tell him . . . what? The sudden epiphany that had hit her when she realized the blood-soaked body on the stretcher was his was still fluttering around inside her head like a crazed butterfly. It never landed in one place long enough for her to examine it.

She'd gone and fallen in love with him.

She loved his good for nothing, half-innocent smile. She loved the way he'd looked at her the night on Espritos when she told Jim to keep his fly zipped. She loved his hands and his mouth and every tall, lean inch of him.

She had no business falling in love with a pilot in the middle of a war, especially one of _these_ pilots in _this_ unit on _this_ base. It was one thing to want to sleep with him. It was an entirely different matter to love him. It was just asking for trouble. It was the worst idea she'd ever had and God knew she'd had some bad ones over the years.

"Dee?" She turned at the sound of Greg's voice. His tone had changed, serious now. "What did Doc say about Casey?"

She swallowed.

"He thinks he'll be all right. He sewed up all the bleeders and stitched him back together. Most of the injury was to his left arm and his chest, a few places on his leg. He has a couple of cracked ribs, probably from being slammed around in the cockpit. Barring infection, he should be fine but he'll be off the flight roster for a while. From the way he looked when you guys brought him in, Reese thought he had more blood on the outside of his body than he did on the inside."

"Good." Dee heard more than just relief in his tone.

"Why?" She checked the collection bottle. "Just a bit more, then I'll stick someone else."

"On the way home, he said if he didn't make it, there was something I had to tell you. But if he's going to be okay, he can damn well tell you himself."

"In that case, I'd better keep a close eye on him." Her tone was cautiously neutral, not wanting to give away the feelings that were probably written all over her face anyway. "There's no telling what that boy might do next." She pulled the needle and slapped a gauze patch over the puncture site. She folded Greg's fingers over it. "Keep pressure on that for a few minutes. And you're about a quart low now, so I would advise you to step away from the Scotch tonight."

"Sweetheart?" He grinned at her, "we both know that's not going to happen." He winked and left. Dee watched him go, shaking her head. She stuck her head out the door.

"Who's next?"

 **XXX**

It took only minutes but it seemed like hours to do the remaining blood draws on the Black Sheep. Three other boys in the squadron were O-negative and even though Dr. Reese didn't think they'd need that much blood on hand, it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, they all insisted on donating and heaven knew how hard it was to tell those boys no.

Laura stopped by to tell her Casey's vitals were steady and he was sleeping off post-surgical sedation. With a knowing look at the tension on Dee's face, she pointed at the door and said she would finish the blood draws.

Back in her quarters, Dee showered and changed into a clean jumpsuit. She was eating a meal she couldn't taste in the hospital mess when Laura found her again.

"Casey's awake. He's asking for you." Dee abandoned her tray and bolted for the hospital.

The rays of the setting sun cast the ward in shadow as she walked in. Casey was in the bed nearest the nurses' station. When the attending nurse saw her, she winked and vanished. Dee noticed Greg was talking to Jim further down the line of beds. Reese had ordered Jim to stay overnight for observation. Apparently there was some concern about his hard head. Since Darlene and Glory were both working the night shift, Dee thought he should probably be worried about a few other body parts, too.

TJ was perched in a chair by Casey's bed. He stood as Dee approached.

"Hey, Dee." He turned back to Casey. "I'll be going, you got better looking company now. See ya tomorrow."

"See ya. Thanks, TJ, for talking me down. I'd have never made it otherwise." Casey's voice was rough. "I owe you."

"You don't owe me nothing." TJ looked at Dee and grinned. "He's all yours."

Casey's left arm was bandaged from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist. His chest was bare, his torso wrapped tightly to immobilize his ribs. Dee ran her fingers lightly over his right shoulder and across his collarbone, gratified when his mouth curved in a tired smile.

"Hey. How you feeling?"

He reached up with his good arm and covered her fingers with his.

"Like Tojo used me for target practice. We had to come back over a flak field and Jim and I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's what Greg told me." Relief poured through her, leaving her unexpectedly weak. Automatically, she took his wrist and checked his pulse, finding comfort in the routine motion. It was strong and steady under her fingers, an affirmation of life. She hadn't realized until this moment, knowing that he was going to be all right, how much she . . . she brushed at her eyes and said briskly, "Reese had to sew your arm back together and you'd better stay out of any bar fights for a while, but I think you'll make it. Can I get you anything for the pain?"

"No, thanks. It's not bad. I'm half lit the way it is."

She fussed with the blanket, tugging it up. Casey pressed her hand down and she flattened her palm against his chest.

"I'm going to be all right, Dee. You can quit pretending not to cry. Stay with me for a while?"

"Who's crying?" She sniffed a little and sat on the edge of the bed. He rested his good hand on her waist. "Delmonte will skin me alive if she catches us. She thinks fraternizing with you guys at the base is bad enough. She won't stand for it in her own hospital."

"I don't think you're in any danger of breaking regs unless you plan to take advantage of me right now."

"We're in the same bed," she pointed out.

He didn't say anything but arched his eyebrows.

"We are. Again. But this still isn't how I imagined it."

It wasn't the way she'd imagined it either.

"Dee?" His tone was serious. "When I got hit, when I thought I wasn't going to make it back, I asked Pappy to tell you something for me. Uh . . . did he?"

"No." She studied him, confused. "He mentioned it while he was giving blood but he said, and this is a direct quote, 'if he's going to be okay, he can damn well tell you himself.' "

"I love you." The words tumbled into the fading light.

Dee froze, not breathing.

"When I got hit this morning, I thought I was going to end up at the bottom of the Slot and I didn't want to die without you knowing how I felt. I asked Greg to tell you, just in case. And if he didn't make it back for some reason, well, all the other guys heard me say it so I know they would have told you. And now that Doc Reese says I'm probably not going to die, I want you to know. I love you."

She sat, not daring to move, except for her heart, which was doing all sorts of cartwheels. Never in her life had a man told her he loved her. Told her she was beautiful, yes. Told her he wanted her, yes. Told her all the things a girl likes to hear while a man is taking her clothes off, yes. But never when she was sitting in a hospital ward with a guy who could barely hold her hand, let alone take her clothes off.

"That isn't the morphine talking, is it?"

"No." He shifted and wincing, moved his left hand to close over hers. "But if you don't feel the same way, I understand – "

"I love you, too."

"- so if you want to just keep – what?"

"I love you, too."

"You do?"

The utter disbelief on his face made her laugh. She let her hand rest on his shoulder, lean muscle warm under her hand.

"Yes!"

She could see him turning it over in his mind as if he were afraid he'd misheard her.

"When did that happen?"

"When did it start? Or when did I realize it?"

"Both."

"I realized it when I found out the bloody mess leaking all over the stretcher this morning was you. I think it started when you threw me in the foxhole. Or coerced me into going up in your plane or sleeping in your bed on Espritos –"

"I don't remember you arguing about any of that."

"I don't remember you giving me any choice."

"I gave you a choice on Espritos. You could have walked back to the nurses' quarters and explained to Commander Lund what you'd been doing."

Dee rolled her eyes.

"What I'd been doing? I'd been running around in the rain, eluding the MPs! If Delmonte had gotten wind of that, I'd never have seen the light of day again."

"That's okay." Casey broke into one of those grins that made her want to slap him or kiss him. "We'll have some good times in the dark."

She made a strangled noise, looked around to see if anyone else had heard. There was no one close.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone who can't even get up."

He didn't say anything, just let his grin spread.

"Out of bed! Get up out of bed!" She clarified, feeling color flood her cheeks.

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips.

"Getting _out_ of bed is not the objective," he said quietly. "Honestly, Dee, I didn't think getting you in bed was going to be this much work."

"You took your own sweet time trying," she hissed. "And so far, the choices have been in a barracks with three other men sleeping two feet away or now a hospital ward with half a dozen of them and you're supposed to be resting quietly. You have an odd choice of a romantic rendezvous, Lieutenant."

"The beach." He was laughing now. Jim and Greg glanced their way. "You forgot the beach."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. The beach. When you took half my clothes off before you suddenly developed a sense of honor. Do you know how many sleepless nights you've cost me?"

"If I'd known you weren't going to put up a fight, I'd have been better prepared. It won't happen again."

"What won't happen again – taking my clothes off or not being prepared?"

"I don't think I need to draw you a picture, do I?"

"You used to be such a sweet boy, Larry Casey." Dee fought not to laugh and tried to sound offended at the same time. It didn't work. "How much of Greg's blood did Reese pump into you?"

"Your smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Lieutenant."

"I expect it will. What do you plan on doing about it?"

Reaching up, he tangled his good hand in her hair and pulled her mouth down to his. She didn't resist.

 **XXX**

Dr. Reese released Jim the next morning but kept Casey in the hospital for another day before cutting him loose to desk duty until his ribs healed. Jim was likewise grounded while he recovered from the concussion. Temporary replacement pilots were brought in but both Casey and Jim continued to haunt the flight line and attended the pre- and post-mission briefings as if they were the ones climbing into the cockpits.

It didn't take long for Dee to realize one thing about the Black Sheep – they weren't particularly good at doing nothing when they were ordered to do it. Greg finally appealed to Dee to do something with Casey before Greg had to lock him up to keep him from driving the replacement pilots to distraction.

"Could you be a little more specific?" she asked.

"Just give him something else to think about, sweetheart," Greg replied. "I'll leave that up to you."

She could hear him chuckling as she left his tent.

 **XXX**

Giving Casey something else to think about wasn't that hard. Dee made it a point to drive to the base in the evenings when her shift at the hospital ended. They'd had very little time alone together since the night on Espritos. The New Georgia campaign was heating up and the squadron was flying double missions that left them sleep deprived and edgy. Jim and Casey felt guilty about being grounded, in spite of Greg telling them to knock it off. They weren't going back up until they were healed and that was a decision Doc Reese got to make, not them.

They walked on the beach in the evenings and sometimes just sat, watching the sunset and talking about where they grew up. He learned she'd once disguised herself as a boy and ridden her horse in a three-day cross-country race with her friend Kate the summer they both turned 16.

"I suppose you won it and caused a huge scandal," he said.

"My horse threw a shoe on the second day so I dropped out. Katie dropped out, too, and rode back with me. Our parents nearly skinned both of us alive when they found out where we'd been. I don't think they were surprised though."

She learned he and a buddy had poured soap powder and food coloring into the town fountain on St. Patrick's Day, resulting in billows of green-tinted foam oozing across the city square park.

"Did you get caught?" she asked.

"No," he said. "But Hank and I hung around a little too long to admire our handiwork and I had an awful time explaining to my folks why the soles of my boots were bright green when I got home that night."

When rain drove them back into the Sheep Pen, Dee insisted both of the injured boys do some mild upper body exercises while they healed.

"I thought therapy was supposed to make you feel better, not hurt worse," Casey grimaced as he extended his left arm and pressed his palm against hers.

"Therapy is supposed to ensure you keep your range of motion without muscle atrophy," Dee said briskly, twining her fingers through his to keep him from pulling his arm back.

"Darlin', your time would be better spent preventing a different kind of muscle atrophy," Jim advised.

Dee flipped him off. Greg laughed. And Meatball tried to steal her hat again.

 **XXX**

Casey and Jim showed up at the hospital together to have their stitches removed 10 days after the flak field incident. Dee brandished a pair of scissors and said, "Who wants to go first?"

Jim winced.

"You put them in," he said to Dee, "how about I let Darlene take them out?"

"Chicken," Dee grinned. Jim and Dar vanished to a separate room.

"Take your shirt off and sit." She said to Casey, pointing at a chair. "You know, you boys could have done this yourself, back at the base."

"What fun would that have been?"

She ran a hand over his bare shoulder, unable to resist the opportunity to touch him. The skin had knitted well and the scars would fade with time. Laura had put in the closing sutures and she was no slouch with a needle, either, but the jagged pattern of stitches over the smooth muscle of his shoulder and upper arm reminded Dee of how close she'd come to losing him that day. She swallowed hard and pressed her mouth to his with a hot, fast kiss that left him dazed.

Pulling back, she set to work. Clipping a suture and tugging it loose, she remarked, "It's not rocket science. I've watched you guys re-label bottles of whisky and that takes a steadier hand than this. You could have gotten French to do it and enjoyed a drink at the same time." She worked her way quickly down his arm, snipping and gently removing the stitches.

"Mmmm, French doesn't smell nearly as good as you do." Casey rested one hand on her back, then ran a finger from her throat down to the top button in the V of her jumpsuit. She nearly dropped the scissors.

"Stop that."

In answer, he pulled her down on his lap and kissed her.

"Stop that!" she repeated. "We can't do this here."

"I think we can."

He kissed her again and she was helpless. His mouth was slow and gentle, her body yielding to the possibilities when footsteps clicked to a stop in the doorway.

"Lieutenant Ryan! What are you doing!" Delmonte's strident voice cut through the delicious sensation and Dee froze. The lieutenant commander was bearing down on them like a ship under full sail. The look on her face would have stopped McArthur in his tracks.

"I think that would be fairly obvious, ma'am," Dee said.

Casey shifted her off his lap, then standing, stepped in front of her and took a deep breath.

"I take full responsibility, Lieutenant Commander. I started it," he said, drawing himself up to his full height. He was taller than Delmonte but she would have made twice of him in girth.

"The last time I checked, Lieutenant – you –" she pinned Dee with a glare, "not you," she transferred her glare to Casey, then riveted on Dee, "it took two for a proper kiss and I didn't see you arguing."

"No, ma'am, I certainly wasn't."

Delmonte looked like the top of her head might blow off.

"Do you remember what I told you the first day you were here, about expectations of conduct, especially around male personnel."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then what do you have to say for yourself?"

"When a boy kisses like he does, it's really hard to say no."

Delmonte's lips compressed into a thin line. She stepped closer and inspected Casey's bare arm and chest.

"Are you done with him?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. We were just getting started."

Casey didn't even try to hold back the laugh. Delmonte glared at him.

"Lieutenant Casey, I would report your behavior to your commanding officer if I thought for a minute it would do any good," Delmonte snapped. She added, "Lieutenant Ryan, you are a skilled nurse but I've had all of your smart mouth I can tolerate. Until further notice, you're under house arrest for insubordination and conduct unbecoming an officer."

"Ma'am?" Casey began. Dee knew what he was going to say and tried frantically to send him a telepathic message to shut up. It didn't work.

"With all due respect, I've found her conduct very becoming."

 **XXX**

"And that's when she filed the complaint against me," Casey said. The other boys laughed and Jim slapped him on the back.

Across the table, Greg held up a sheet of paper. He shook his head, clearly not believing what he was about to say.

"Delmonte claims you were sexually harassing Lieutenant Ryan. Any truth to that?" The look on his face said he already knew the answer.

"No, sir. Dee insisted she was following orders because you told her to give me something else to think about. Delmonte didn't buy that, either. You can ask her yourself the next time you see her, except she's under hack now and can't leave the hospital. She figures she'll spend the rest of the war there if Delmonte has anything to say about it."

"You couldn't keep your hands off her for 15 minutes in the middle of the day?"

"You've seen her, sir. Do you blame me?"

Greg shook his head, grinning.

"No. I don't." He paused. "Consider yourself reprimanded. I'd tell you not to let it happen again but it wouldn't do any good. Next time, try a little harder not to get caught."

Jim snorted.

"Delmonte's just bitter because no one's putting the moves on her," he said. "I bet if she were getting a little lovin', she'd be more willing to look the other way when it comes to us."

"Who's gonna take one for the team and love on her? There's no room dark enough for that!" Boyle said.

The men went their separate ways, laughter echoing through the tropical dusk.

Casey lingered, refilling the beer cooler and straightening the bar stock until it was lined up with a military precision rarely seen anywhere on the base.

"Something on your mind?" Greg finally asked.

Casey stopped lining up liquor bottles so the labels all faced forward and took a deep breath.

"You ever been in love? I mean, really in love. Not just . . . making time."

Greg didn't answer right away.

"I thought I was once. It was a long time ago and it didn't work out. If you'd asked me then, I'd have said falling in love wasn't worth it. Just enjoy the moment and move on, no strings attached. Now . . ." He paused and let his eyes drift somewhere else in time. "Now, I think there's someone for everyone. It's just a matter of finding them. If you think you've found the right girl, you need to tell her. Don't wait. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow."

Casey slouched into a chair and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. That was exactly what he thought but somehow it wasn't quite so crystal clear in his mind.

"I did tell her."

"And?"

"She said I used to be such a sweet boy." He laughed. "Then she said she loved me, too."

Greg chuckled.

"She hit that nail on the head." They sat in silence for a minute, listening to the night sounds from the inland jungle. "So what else is on your mind?"

Casey straightened back up. Hell, if anyone would understand, it would be Greg.

"How do you know when it's really love, not just wanting to . . . you know? I mean, I thought I knew before, but that sure as hell didn't work out and we were together for five years. I've only known Dee for a couple of months."

Greg stood up and snagged two glasses and a bottle out of Casey's carefully organized bar stock.

"You know you were the only one of this bunch of yahoos I didn't lay awake at night worrying about when I formed the Black Sheep?"

Casey looked surprised at this change of subject. Then he looked doubtful.

"Come on, Greg, I know we all drove you to drink at first."

"Most of you still do. All right, I worried about you a little because you jumped in with both feet that day on Espritos. God knows anyone with good sense would have run the other direction. Since then I've watched you make more good decisions than bad ones. You've got a hot hand and a cool mind upstairs and your horse-trading has kept this unit from falling into ruin more than once."

Greg poured out two measures of whisky and shoved one across the table.

"What I'm saying," he continued, "is trust your gut. You've got good instincts, Casey. You and Dee were good together before you ever . . ." He raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"Yeah. Well. That's just it. We haven't."

Greg looked surprised.

"What the hell are you waiting for? From what I've seen, I doubt she's telling you no."

"You know what it's like to find any privacy around here. And no, she's not saying no." Casey smothered a grin. "If it had been up to her, well . . ." He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "I love her. Yeah. But it doesn't feel anything like it did when I thought I loved Iris. And we _were_ sleeping together."

"Listen. How old were you when you decided you were in love with Iris?"

Casey paused.

"Seventeen."

"And how old are you now?"

"Twenty-two."

"Do you think understanding what it means to love a woman now might be a little different?"

Casey choked on his whisky.

"Do you mean, loving like being in love? Or loving, like, taking her to bed?"

It was Greg's turn to choke.

"God, Casey, it still works the same way, whether you're 17 or 35, trust me. Although I think you'll find your partner makes a big difference."

"Yeah. I kinda got that feeling."

Greg lifted his glass.

"Here's to women. And to finding the right one."

Casey clinked his glass against Greg's.

"Thanks."

"That girl's been a bad influence on you." The twinkle in Greg's eyes showed his unspoken approval.

"I think it's something about girls from North Dakota," Casey said. "The girls in Kansas don't behave like that."

"Then thank God she's the only one here. I don't think this rock could handle two of them."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Girls from North Dakota**

 **Vella La Cava Naval Hospital**

 **Nurses' quarters**

Dee showered and dressed to the accompaniment of thunder after evening mess. A glance out the window showed a bank of hard white storm clouds building over the ocean. She sighed in resignation. It looked like another night spent sitting in her room.

Being under hack meant she was restricted to either her quarters or the hospital grounds when she was off duty. Delmonte hadn't shown any indication of lifting the punishment and seemed content with keeping her hemmed in. Dee wondered what the record was for time spent under hack and thought at her current rate, she might surpass some of the Black Sheep. Would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut?

The other nurses had her back. They thought the story of how Delmonte had disciplined her and charged Casey with harassment when she caught them together was wonderfully romantic. Then they'd gotten creative when it came to finding reasons for Dee to accompany them on medical visits the 214's base.

So far, Dee had assisted with vaccination updates (Casey's records had taken an unusually long time for her to confirm, during which Jerry was conspicuously absent from their tent), helped present a lecture on alcohol abuse (while sitting on Casey's lap in the Sheep Pen and sharing a communal bottle of the unit's finest Scotch) and given a foot inspection that consisted largely of walking barefoot on the beach with Casey while everyone else played volleyball. He was back on the flight roster now and continued to drive allegedly wounded pilots to the hospital when she was on shift.

They saw each other and that was about it. There were a few stolen kisses and precious little else. It left Dee in a state of slow, simmering frustration. This couldn't be healthy, she thought.

She dropped into her desk chair and re-read her most recent letter from Kate. Kate was leaving the UK and taking an Associated Press assignment at Pearl Harbor. Good for her, Dee thought. Kate really needed to get out of the UK after she'd given her heart to a guy, only to have the relationship go down in flames. And now their letters should find one another a little more quickly. She was never really sure when she wrote to Kate that the letter arrived in any sort of timely fashion.

Lightning cracked and rain swept across the grounds in a silver curtain as Dee drew up pen and paper to write back. She was trying to decide how to condense her current situation into a suitable number of words when someone knocked on her door. She opened it to find Casey on the threshold.

'Hi." His hair was damp and windblown and his khaki shirt was speckled with raindrops.

"Hi yourself," she said, surprised. "Don't you have the sense to stay out of the rain?"

He stepped into the room and kissed her.

"It caught us when we were half way here."

"We?"

"Anderson and French had dates this evening, so I came along for the ride." He looked a little sheepish. "I didn't think you'd mind if I invited myself."

"I don't!" He was unexpected and she was delighted. "But how'd you get in? This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox after 1900."

"Not tonight, the back door was wide open. Delmonte's at a conference on Espritos, didn't you know? Laura overheard her confirming travel arrangements and told TJ, who told the rest of the guys. She won't be back until tomorrow night. There are probably more Black Sheep in this building right now than there are back at the base."

Dee rolled her eyes.

"I'm the last one to know anything, like usual. I just work here."

Casey looked at the scattered paper on her desk.

"Am I interrupting anything important?"

"No, just writing to Kate. She's transferring from Scotland to Pearl. I'm trying to explain . . . well . . . you . . . and . . . this . . ." She waved her hand in frustration to encompass the room that was essentially her jail cell.

Casey wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

"What's it feel like, being in trouble all the time?"

"You should know – you lot aren't any better but Greg doesn't nail your ass to the wall for it." She laughed and shoved ineffectually at his chest. He kissed her again, then studied the photo sitting on her desk.

"Are all the girls in your hometown this pretty? Look at the three of you – you're all gorgeous. Although they couldn't be nearly as much trouble as you are."

"Yes, all North Dakota girls are stunning," she said, "but Katie and Sarah and I are the most stunning of them all. And I think Kate's even more trouble than - "

Lightning blazed outside the window and they froze as the room was washed with silver. There was a loud crack and sizzle nearby, then the lights abruptly went out. They waited, not moving, until it became apparent the power wasn't coming back on.

"Looks like it got the generator," Dee said. "They have a backup for the hospital but not for our quarters." She stepped out of his embrace and pulled a fat white candle from a shelf in the closet. It was stuck in a puddle of wax on a saucer, clearly having seen duty before.

"You wouldn't believe how often the power goes out here." Dee scraped a match on the box and transferred the flame to the candlewick. She set the candle on her mirrored dresser, the circle of light spreading as the flame rose in reality and reflection.

She turned back to him. The soft light edged his features with shadow, making him look a little disreputable.

"We could go back to the Sheep Pen for a drink, if you'd like. Delmonte would never know." His hands slid around her waist. His touch was light, always an invitation, never a demand.

Another bolt of lightning connected with a nearby palm tree.

"If I got electrocuted, Delmonte would find a way to punish me beyond the grave." She tipped her head back and drank in his face. That roguish innocence woke something hot and dark inside her. She could feel it rising and didn't fight it. "Maybe we should just stay here."

He kissed her again, deeper this time as her lips parted. He smelled like rain and as he pressed her against the wall, she realized with a hot jolt of adrenaline that finding something to do this evening was not going to be a problem. Reaching behind her, she twisted the door lock, heard it click home. He pulled back with a questioning look.

"I don't want Laura dropping in to borrow my nail polish," she said. "She tends to knock and open the door at the same time."

The candle flame guttered, sending shadows dancing on the wall. Dee's hands slid from Casey's shoulders to the top button of his shirt. She unfastened it slowly, then let her fingers drop to the next one. He kept his hands on her waist. She looked up from under her lashes. He was watching her with a slow smile.

She was the perfect height to brush her lips across the hollow of his throat. She kept her mouth against him, her kisses light, as she unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. He didn't argue when she tugged it off. Not lifting her mouth, Dee ran her hands across his chest and down his belly, feeling his muscles tighten under her touch. She was enjoying the taste and scent of his skin when he lifted her hips, pulling her against him. There was no mistaking his need.

"Come to bed with me," she said softly. It wasn't a question. She was aching for him, her body humming with need.

He pulled back, suddenly awkward.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel obligated because I, well, just showed up."

Dear lord, even now, he was putting her feelings first, not assuming anything in spite of the obvious. And he still didn't understand how much she wanted him, body and soul, wanted to show him what a man and a woman could share together.

"What do I have to do to make a believer out of you?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. Her eyes locked on his as she drew her fingers across the front of his trousers, caressing him. He groaned and leaned into her. She let her fingers tighten on his shaft, pressed hard against the fabric, and felt her own need soar as his breath caught.

"God, Dee."

She let go of him.

"Yes, I'm sure. Do you believe me now?"

"I'm starting to." There was humor in his voice.

He unbuttoned her shirt, tugged it over her shoulders and down her arms. Her shorts went next, his fingers deft on the button and zipper. They dropped to the floor and Casey paused to slide his hands under her breasts and across her belly. She shuddered in pleasure. She had wanted his hands on her for so long, wanted him to touch her and take her all the places she'd dreamed of them going together.

He stroked her back as she made quick work of his belt and trousers. She had no idea how he got his boots off but heard them thump against the floor and then he was pulling her down onto the bed.

He was whipcord lean without an ounce of fat, his skin hot under her hands. She ran her lips along his neck, inhaled his clean scent and felt her body turn to liquid heat.

He handled her like she was made of spun glass, tracing his fingertips along the lacy edge of her bra, then between her breasts, down the flat plane of her belly and along the tops of her thighs. She watched his face in the candlelight, saw his mouth curving as he discovered her. He singlehandedly unhooked her bra and she shrugged out of it, tangling her fingers in his hair as he lowered his mouth to her breasts. She moaned as his teeth closed on her nipples, gentle but insistent. His lips on her skin were heat over silk.

She ran her hands across the lean planes of his back and her mouth skimmed his neck, quick nips along his jawline, teeth grazing his throat. Every groan, every quickening of his breath heightened her own arousal. Her fingers followed the half-healed scars on his arm, across his shoulders and down his spine. She let her hand explore lower, stroking his hard length, feeling him throbbing against her as she caressed him.

Lightning flickered outside the window and wind-driven rain pounded the roof. On the dresser, the candle flame spun a web in time where only they existed.

He firmly removed her hand and gripping her wrists, pinned her motionless on her back. She didn't struggle. His lips lingered on hers as his free hand slid the length of her body and dipped between her thighs. His touch was feather light, the friction of his fingers against the damp silk was exquisite. Quivering, she twisted out of her panties and bared herself to him, guiding his hand until she realized he didn't need it. He touched her in ways she'd only dreamed of and her mind and body soared in exaltation. She whimpered as sensation built, her breath coming in a sharp intake and her fingers clenched his shoulder.

His hand stilled, his breath close to her ear.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

She turned her face toward his and drew her tongue across his lower lip.

"No." A single word on a soft breath full of hunger. It was all the encouragement he needed.

She trembled, surrendering as his fingers lead her along the the last, unbearable moments of pleasure. She cried out wordlessly, the molten power of the release obliterating everything beyond his touch, his scent, his heartbeat. The room blurred, the candle's light faded to a pinpoint. When she came back to herself, she realized her nails were still digging into his shoulder. She flexed her fingers, knowing she broken the skin.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." His voice was low. He was pressed against her and she could feel tension resonating through him, desire battling with control. He let his hand rest flat and warm against the curve of her belly. "You liked it that much?"

She pressed her face against his chest, still a little breathless. Damn Iris for making him think women just lay there and took it. His mouth and hands were beyond her imagination. If the rest of him was like that, she might not be alive by morning.

"You . . . I . . . yes!" If there'd been any self-consciousness between them before, it was gone now. He was the man she'd dreamed of since she'd learned what it meant to be a woman.

"I want you," she whispered. She wanted him joined with her, to feel him take that headlong rush into insanity with her. "Did you bring . . .?"

"Yeah."

He rolled away, pulling off his shorts as he reached for his trousers on the floor.

"Do you want me to . . .?" she offered.

"God no, Dee, if you touch me right now, well, I'm not going to last very long as it is, just warning you."

She laughed and raked her nails lightly down his back as he opened the condom.

"I'm not either, just warning you."

And then the time for talking was over.

She knew he was holding his breath as he entered her. Her hips rose to meet him, her body trembling at the heat of his penetration. It had been so long. And it had never felt like this.

He wasn't a virgin, she knew that. His touch to this point had been skilled but there was still an innocence about him, like he didn't know what to expect. It made her want to give herself to him even more. She ran her hands over his hips, invited him deeper. He buried himself in her and she moaned, arching under him.

The rhythm of their bodies was slow, a counterpoint to the storm raging outside. She realized he was being gentle, restrained, and while a distant part of her mind admired his self-control, she knew it wasn't what either of them wanted.

"I won't break," she whispered, and wrapping her legs around his waist, rolled him onto his back. He was motionless as she eased slowly onto him, taking one hot, hard inch at a time, then his hands closed around her waist and he drove up into her. She met him stroke for stroke. He gripped her hips, holding her helpless and she fought, not to get away, but to take more of him. The flames licked through her core, teasing higher, each thrust lifting her toward oblivion. She twined her fingers in his and let him to tumble her onto her back again, never breaking their embrace. She held his gaze in the flickering candlelight, read the unspoken acknowledgement of her pleasure in the curve of his mouth.

"Please." She wasn't above begging. "Casey . . . please."

She writhed under him, nails digging into his back as he brought her hard and fast. His name was on her lips as the world narrowed to the power of his body in hers. She cried out, not even trying to hold back as the sweet agony of the climax slammed into her. She bucked up hard under him and felt him thrust once, twice, then join her as shared pleasure exploded.

Then there was only stillness and shadow. The candle's flame danced. Rain dripped from the eaves. Dee could hear the pounding of her own heart. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps as the last ripples of what they'd shared echoed through her. Her fingers seemed to the only thing she could move and she twisted them in his hair. His face was buried in the curve of her neck, his breathing mirrored hers. She gathered her thoughts, trying to form a cohesive string of words.

"Do you believe me now?" she asked softly.

"I'd believe anything you told me right now." He didn't move, his words falling against her skin.

She laughed and slapped his bare hip. He toppled to one side.

"That girls enjoy it as much as guys – do you believe me now?" she repeated.

"God. Yes." He rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. "Now I believe every one of Gutterman's stories. Well, almost every one of them."

Rolling onto her stomach, Dee wrapped her arms around a pillow and studied his face. His smile was impossible to resist.

"Larry Casey, if you say one word about this to any of those boys over breakfast, I will never let you touch me again." She bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly.

"I won't have to say anything," he said. "They've been after me for so long, wanting to know about us, they're gonna take one look at my face and know."

Wasn't that the truth.

It wasn't going to be any better for her. Laura, Ellen and the other nurses would not show her any mercy over their coffee when she walked into the mess with a thousand watt smile in the morning. On top of that, she had a feeling the wall between her room and Laura's was probably not as thick as it needed to be.

"Do _not_ be telling tales out of school." Dee tried – and largely failed - to sound severe. It was one thing to want him so badly it made her ache. It was another thing entirely for the rest of the Black Sheep to know about it. She'd heard some of the boy's stories and they didn't skimp on the play-by-play. By merit of time spent in the Sheep Pen, she knew more intimate details about some of her fellow nurses than she wanted to.

"Don't worry, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Dee stroked his jaw with a finger.

"I take it back. You're no gentleman."

He kissed her and brushed back her hair back from her face.

"Not so long ago you said I was the nicest boy you'd ever met. Then just last week, you told me I used to be such a sweet boy. Will you make up your mind, woman?"

"You _are_ the nicest boy I've ever met." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Dee."

His grin still held the not-quite-innocence that sent something low in her belly tumbling.

"Good. You still owe me."

"Owe you? For what?"

"For that night on Espritos. I didn't sleep a wink. I should have known then you were no gentleman."

He laughed, low and husky.

"You're awfully hard on me."

Dee's hand slid down his thigh, then around to his hip and up his back. She felt him lean into her caress.

"I expect you'll return the favor." She kissed him. "Stay with me tonight? All night? We won't get a chance like this very often."

"I thought you'd never ask."

She nestled into the crook of his shoulder, closing her eyes in bliss. Finally . . . a night together . . . in a room with a real bed and a door that locked. The possibilities were endless.

"I hope you don't have an early mission tomorrow."

"We go up at 1100 for a routine patrol. Why?"

"Because you're not going to get much sleep tonight."

He chuckled.

"Tell me something – are all girls from North Dakota like you? Aside from being stunningly gorgeous and all that."

She reflected.

"I don't know - how am I?"

"Outspoken, bossy –"

"Bossy? You think I'm bossy?"

"Yeah. A little. I think you like giving orders."

It was her turn to laugh.

"Maybe. What else am I?"

"Smart-mouthed. Single-minded. Should I go on?"

"No. That's quite enough." She wrapped herself around him, languid as a cat in the sunshine. "I guess if you ever get to meet Kate and Sarah, you could decide for yourself. I think they're just like me. Kate might even be worse."

He kissed her, ran his fingers along her collarbone and between her breasts.

"Then God forbid they ever show up here."

"The odds of that are slim to none. You'll have to take my word for it."

Dee was right about one thing. They didn't get much sleep that night.


	10. Chapter 10

_This is the final chapter of "Silk Stockings." Dee and Casey's tale could stretch on but I think they both deserve a little privacy after having me poking around in their lives for the last three months. I am the first to admit this chapter is not only a wrap-up of their story but a shameless foreshadowing of "Front Page News," the very first Black Sheep fan fic I wrote. Thank you all for reading and for your kind reviews and encouragement. MW_

 **Chapter 10: The press corps in sheep's clothing**

 **One month later**

 **Vella La Cava, VMF 214 HQ**

"You're not going to believe this," Casey said. Dee was curled in his arms on a blanket on the beach, sated with their lovemaking. Delmonte had finally lifted her house arrest and while Dee didn't think for a minute she was back in the lieutenant commander's good graces, she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I'd believe anything you told me right now," she said, kissing him lightly on the neck. They had taken advantage of the isolation of this particular stretch of coastline to celebrate her newly restored freedom. It had been a memorable celebration. The ocean breeze on bare skin under the moonlight was well worth any chance of another romance-minded Black Sheep and his girl stumbling into their privacy, Dee thought. She was relatively sure each of the boys had their own particular spot staked out for interludes such as this. She also figured they had some unspoken code that prevented accidental interruptions but she hadn't asked Casey about it. That was really more than she wanted to know.

"Colonel Lard assigned an Associated Press reporter to the 214. He's coming here to live with us."

"Except that!" Dee rolled up on one elbow. "Greg must be furious!"

Greg's dislike of the press corps was legendary. Dee hadn't seen anything that could get the man's temper to flare faster than having a reporter show up. A few had visited the unit over the last several months and none had stayed more than a day or two. Now it sounded like one was going to move in.

"He is, believe me. But he doesn't think this guy will stick around long." Casey grinned. "He figures we can convince him to leave in pretty short order."

Dee felt a momentary pang of sympathy for any news correspondent assigned to the 214. The man was going to have a hard road in front of him.

"When does he get here?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. We've been ordered to do a meet and greet, then it's pretty much open season on the guy. There'll be a welcome bash in the Sheep Pen, you coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Dee would never turn down a party at the Sheep Pen, even if it was going to come at the unsuspecting journalist's expense. "Do you know who it is?"

"I can't remember this guy's name," Casey said. "Carmichael, Campbell, something like that. A couple of the guys recognized it from photo credits in the rags, but Greg was so furious at Lard for shoving a correspondent on us I don't think he cared if his name was Adolf Hitler. He's afraid a reporter will go sticking his nose in places it shouldn't be. We all know the only reason Lard's doing this is to try to get some dirt on us. He can't argue with our record upstairs but if he got wind of some of the other stuff . . ." He let out a long sigh.

Dee laid her hand on his chest, enjoying the play of muscle under her fingers. She was privy to most of the unit's black market deals now and didn't blame Greg and the boys for not wanting a reporter sniffing around. The deals weren't illegal, per se, but, oh, who was she kidding. They were illegal as all get out and they all knew it but some days those carefully convoluted trades were the only thing keeping the squadron in the air.

"Whoever it is, I can't imagine them butting heads with Greg for very long," she said. "This guy won't be here long enough to get wind of anything."

 **XXX**

As the transport lumbered down out of the late day sun, Casey joined the rest of the Black Sheep at the airstrip. Greg had ordered them to assemble to meet Lard's journalist under the pretense of welcome. In spite of the initial excitement over the man's celebrity, the boys shared Greg's apprehension about having a correspondent attached to the squadron.

They were all a little edgy. Fighting a war was hard enough without a nosy reporter getting in the middle of everything. Greg had made it clear he thought Lard's idea was an exceptionally bad one and beyond the excuse for a rousing welcome party, the rest of the boys agreed. There were quite a few aspects of life at the 214 they would prefer the press not get wind of. Experience had taught them journalists drank too much, couldn't hold their liquor and had a tendency to get their facts muddled. There was a direct correlation between the first two points and the third.

Casey lounged against a jeep while corpsmen carried supplies off the C-47. Crates of canned goods, ammo and other miscellany were offloaded as they waited impatiently. He could hear Greg grumbling under his breath. The grumbling had been nonstop since Greg came back from Espritos two days ago, when Colonel Lard had broken the news to him about the reporter. Since then, Casey, Jim and Greg had burned the midnight oil to tie up some of their dodgier deals, just in case they needed to lay low for a while.

Jim let out a low whistle.

"My, my, my, will you look at that?" he said, nodding his head toward the plane.

A young woman wearing a slim-fitting skirt, low pumps and a crisp white blouse paused on the top step. A stylish hat sat atop sun-streaked curls that were coming attractively loose from a knot at the nape of her neck. She lifted aviator-style sunglasses as she surveyed the sprawl of trees, mud, tents, planes and men that constituted the 214. Her makeup, like her clothing, was impeccable. She could have walked off the cover of any of the stateside fashion magazines Dee and the other nurses shared.

Casey blinked and did a double-take. There was something familiar about her but he couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't have a clue who she was but he'd seen her before. Not in person. Maybe in a picture. But where would he have seen a picture of her?

"Look at those legs." Jim's voice was reverent.

Even though Casey thought Dee's legs were about as nice as they came, he couldn't help admiring the girl standing in the transport doorway. Even in sensible, low-heeled pumps, her legs were spectacular.

"Damn," Don echoed. "A guy could get wrapped up in those and never get away."

"If I was wrapped up in those legs I sure as hell wouldn't be trying to get away," Jim said. The boys burst into laughter.

Casey could feel the collective energy of the Black Sheep rise as they watched the girl descend the stairs. She was in civilian dress, not a uniform. She wasn't a nurse. She didn't strike him as a USO girl. They were usually a silly, giggly bunch. This girl walked with the confidence of someone who was comfortably in her element. Greg climbed out of the jeep and started across the muddy expanse of ground toward her, Casey and the rest of the boys falling in behind him. At this point, the missing reporter could have parachuted in, juggling flaming typewriters, and been ignored.

As the girl picked her way around the puddles, Casey saw a white shape racing toward her, mud spattering in his wake.

"Meatball! No! Come here!" he yelled. Meatball ignored him. Of course. Meatball ignored everyone. And he loved women. He could scent a new girl from a mile away.

The girl saw the dog just in time. Casey wasn't close enough to hear what she said but the bull terrier screeched to a stop and slammed his butt down onto the ground. She knelt to pet him. Meatball leaped up with enthusiasm, planting a paw on each of the girl's shoulders and the next thing Casey knew, both dog and girl tumbled ass over teakettle into the dirt.

Casey shook his head at the sense of deja vu. He'd seen the very same thing happen to Dee that night she came to the bonfire. He remembered the dog knocking her flat and sitting on her stomach. The girl was laughing now, shoving ineffectively at the terrier, smiling in good humor and oblivious to the mud all over her clothing.

It hit him. He knew exactly who this was. She was one of the girls in the photo on Dee's desk, her friend from home.

" _My friend Kate writes for the Associated Press . . ."_ He remembered looking at the photo in Dee's room months ago.

" _She's transferring from Scotland to Pearl . . ."_ Dee had told him that just a few weeks ago.

And apparently now she'd transferred from Pearl to La Cava. Casey took a deep breath and wiped the look of stunned disbelief off his face. What were the odds?

Greg grabbed Meatball's collar and handed the struggling animal to French, then offered the girl his hand. She gathered herself gracefully as he pulled her to her feet. Her hat had fallen off. There were muddy paw prints all over her blouse and her hair was tumbling loose in a cascade of gold-brown curls. She was a little breathless but surprisingly composed, given the circumstances, Casey thought. The rest of the squadron formed a loose semi-circle and he heard her say, "Good to meet you, Major. I'm Katherine Christine Cameron."

Cameron. That was it. Not Campbell or Carmichael. K.C. Cameron

Casey had watched Greg meet enough incoming female personnel to recognize the not-so-subtle evaluation taking place. His CO's eyes traced the girl's figure from top to bottom and back, lingering now and then. He said nothing.

If the girl knew what was going on, she ignored it. She extended her hand into the silence.

"I'm K.C. Cameron, with the Associated Press," she said. "You can call me Kate."

Casey could almost feel the frost forming on the air as Greg slowly reached out to shake her hand.

 **XXX**

Kate had been assigned to the VIP tent and left in the company of French and Boyle. Casey couldn't wait to find Dee and tell her the news. This might be the biggest thing to happen to the Black Sheep since Greg had talked General Moore into letting them fly an insane mission in Japanese planes a few weeks back.

On his way to the Sheep Pen, Casey stopped at Greg's tent to pick up some paperwork bound for Espritos. Greg was scowling as he changed clothes. Casey noticed the sudden need to improve their appearance had come over most of the squadron, with pilots racing off to find clean uniforms before going to the welcome party.

Greg acknowledged him, then yanked his T-shirt off and threw it on his bunk. It landed on Meatball's head.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with a female reporter?" he snarled.

Casey supposed that was a rhetorical question. He wasn't about to start handing out advice although several suggestions came readily to mind. From the looks on the other boys' faces at the airstrip, he knew he wasn't the only one with those ideas. He had no intention of doing anything about them, he thought hastily, but there was no telling what the other boys would do. Well. Yeah. He knew exactly what the other boys would do. And so did Greg.

"Damn Lard. Not only does he saddle us with a reporter, he sends a girl who looks like _that_." Greg kicked off his boots. He yanked his fatigues off and stomped around the tent, found a clean pair of trousers and pulled them on. "As if it wasn't already hard enough to keep you yahoos thinking about what you're supposed to be doing upstairs, now we're going to have _that_ living in the middle of us."

He jerked on a shirt, flipped the collar to straighten it and shoved the tail into his trousers. "Jim's not going to leave her alone, I can tell that already. We've got to get her out of here before she brings half the squadron up on harassment charges. And this time it won't be Delmonte's imagination."

"Um, Pappy?"

"What?"

"She's one of Dee's best friends from back home."

Greg froze in the middle of buttoning his cuffs. He snorted.

"You gotta be kidding me. Back home, like the States in general? Or back home, like they grew up together?"

"Like they grew up together. They've been best friends since they were little."

Greg closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"For your sake, I hope Dee won't be offended when we run her off."

Casey opened his mouth to say something but Greg had already stormed out of the tent, muttering about girls from North Dakota. The words "nothing but trouble" figured prominently.

Casey gathered the paperwork from the desk. Meatball shook the discarded T-shirt off his head and trotted after his master. Casey watched him go. Greg was right. In Casey's experience, one particular girl from North Dakota had been nothing but trouble of the most intriguing kind. He shook his head and grinned. He couldn't wait to see where this was going. If Dee's friend was anything like her, Greg was going to have his hands full.

 **XXX**

Since arriving on Vella La Cava, Dee had started to think nothing that happened at the 214 could surprise her. When she stepped into the Sheep Pen that evening with several other nurses, she realized she was wrong.

The familiar figure cradling a whisky tumbler and laughing with TJ looked as comfortable amidst the sea of pilots and testosterone as she had when Dee hugged her good-bye in a smoky London pub six months ago. Instead of a tailored Harris tweed suit and silk stockings, the slender girl was wearing a man's white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into khaki trousers. She'd traded her pumps for leather boots and braided her unruly curls into a plait over one shoulder.

"Katie?" Dee's voice was disbelieving. "Oh my God, Katie, it's you!"

The girl's head snapped around. Her gray eyes went wide and she broke into a smile that highlighted the fine bones of her face.

"Dee? Dee-Dee Ryan!" Kate flew across the crowded room and threw her arms around Dee.

"What are you -?" Dee started.

"Didn't you get my letter?"

"Obviously not! I thought you were assigned on Pearl!"

"I was, but the next thing I know, I'm on a transport flying out here to the backside of nowhere." Kate glanced around the room, then back to Dee. She lowered her voice. "The flight out here nearly killed me - God, I hate flying - and the amenities aren't much but there are some nice looking boys in this unit. No wonder you're so happy. Where's this Lieutenant Casey of yours? I can't wait to meet him."

"I'm sure he'll be here in a minute. Sit down! We have got so much catching up to do!" Dee grabbed Kate's hand and pulled her to a table. "I can't believe _you're_ the correspondent."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Kate said drily.

"Oh sweetie, there are some things you need to – oh!" Before Dee could join her friend at the table, Casey stepped behind her and caught her around the waist. His eyes traveled from one girl to the other. Dee threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. When they broke apart, Kate was watching with a bemused smile on her face.

"Lieutenant Casey, I presume?" she held out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

Dee was gratified to see him shift a little uncomfortably. He would always have that air of innocence, no matter what they shared in dark, quiet places.

He shook Kate's hand. "I've heard a lot about you, too."

"Did you know about this?" Dee asked him, pointing at Kate.

"Not until she got off the plane," he said.

"How did you know who she was?"

"Meatball knocked her on her butt and I remembered the night he did the same thing to you, then I made the connection and recognized her from the picture on your desk." He flashed an apologetic smile at Kate. "Sorry about your muddy welcome. That dog doesn't listen to anyone."

"Ah, Meatball," Kate said. "Beware of dog."

"The dog is basically harmless," Dee corrected, "but I think you'd better beware of the owner."

"What do you mean? We're getting along famously so far. He bought me a drink for his sweetheart of a dog ruining everything I was wearing when I landed." Kate glanced across the room and Dee followed her gaze. Greg and Jim were deep in conversation at the bar. As if on cue, Greg turned, gave Kate a slow smile, lifted his glass in her direction, then turned back to his conversation.

"Sit." Dee pulled out a chair. "I need to fill you in on a few things."

This proved to be harder than expected since they were constantly interrupted by Black Sheep stopping to introduce themselves and ask Kate to dance or buy her drinks.

"They're a social bunch, aren't they?" Kate said, dropping back into her chair after being whirled around the dance floor by Don French.

"Don't look now but it's about to get even more social," Dee said, nodding her head imperceptibly as Jim approached.

"Talk about tall, dark and trouble," Kate said under her breath.

"Don't underestimate any of them, they're all trouble," Dee advised. "But yeah, he's one of the worst."

Jim sauntered over, a tumbler of whisky in each hand. He handed one to Kate. She accepted it with a reserved smile. Acknowledging Dee with a tip of his battered cowboy hat, Jim spun a chair around and straddled it. His dark eyes traveled slowly over Kate.

"So darlin', whattaya say we take a ride down to the beach?"

Kate picked up the glass, studied the amber contents.

"If I drink this, am I obligated to go with you?"

"No. Just think of it as encouragement."

Dee had seen that easy, arrogant smile on Jim's face dozens of times. She bit the inside of her lip. She wasn't going to tell Kate what to do but leaving the party with Jim Gutterman her first night on La Cava would set a precedent that might be hard to follow up. Of course, none of the boys figured she would be staying long so they'd probably all try to make an easy score before the night was over. It was the nature of the beast.

Across the table, Kate sipped the whisky.

"Listen, Tex," she said, setting the glass down and leaning closer. "This isn't my first rodeo. You tell me why I should jump on the first bull to come down the chute when I don't even know if he's good for eight seconds."

The table of boys next to them burst into laughter. Jim looked vexed but covered it by lifting his glass in a mock salute, then swallowing the contents in one gulp.

"Shot down in flames. Who knew the lady was an ace?" He extended his hand. "If you won't sleep with me, with you at least dance with me?"

 **XXX**

The party was in full swing. The squadron had turned out in full force, plus a number of nurses and even some of the mechanics who dared Micklin's wrath to sneak away for a few beers. The four Navy ensigns who had staggered off the transport a few hours earlier had recovered enough to enjoy the 214th's Scotch at a corner table. They made occasional disparaging remarks about the atmosphere.

Casey set two bottles of beer on the table and slid into Kate's recently vacated chair. In typical Black Sheep fashion, the boys hadn't given the new girl a moment's peace. She'd gone from one set of arms the next on the dance floor with sparkling good grace. She was currently dancing with Jerry, although he looked barely sober enough to stand upright, let alone dance. Dee watched as Greg cut in. Jerry staggered off and Kate slid easily into the major's arms.

"I think Greg's in trouble. He just doesn't know it yet," Dee mused.

"How so?" Casey had harbored similar feelings from the minute Kate got off the plane The girl had been flattened in the mud by a rude dog in front of the entire squadron, yet introduced herself with unflappable professionalism. He got the uneasy feeling she wasn't someone to be trifled with. He also got the uneasy feeling there was going to be a lot of trifling in the coming days.

"The harder someone pushes Kate to do something she doesn't want to do, the harder she pushes back. If Greg really tries to get rid of her before she's ready to leave, it's not going to be pretty."

"I told him the two of you knew each other. He said he hoped you wouldn't be offended if we ran her off," Casey offered.

"That was considerate of him." Dee sipped her beer and thought offending her might be the least of Greg's problems.

"It doesn't look like he wants to run her off right now," Casey said.

Dee studied her friend. Kate looked too comfortable for her own good in the major's arms. Dee had spent four months watching Greg Boyington operate in terms of military strategy, black market dealing and whatever passed for romance on this front area outpost. He was skilled at turning things to his advantage but she couldn't imagine where this was going. He was a force to be reckoned with at any level.

But so was Kate. And Kate had the advantage of being the wild card. She'd hit the 214 squarely between the eyes. No one - especially Greg - had been prepared for her arrival. He hadn't wanted to play host to a correspondent in the first place. It was a fair bet he didn't want to play host to a female correspondent even more.

"Wanna bet?" Casey cut in as if reading her mind.

Dee blinked.

"On what?"

"How long she stays."

"It's wrong to bet on Kate's job,"Dee protested. "I hope she stays. It would be wonderful to have her around. Oh, all right. What do you want to bet?"

Casey leaned over and kissed her. His mouth left no doubt.

"Anything you want."

"You should know better than that by now," she laughed. "All right, I'm in."

"You know I never bet against the Marine Corps. My money's on Greg. Last chance to back out."

"Nope. And it's not your money I want." She squeezed his thigh under the table and ignored his blue-eyed look of pretend surprise. "I've known Katie since we were in kindergarten. She's not going to leave here until she's good and ready."

Casey shook his head.

"I'll give her a week, tops, probably less. You know how Greg feels about the press. He'll give her so much hell she won't be able to get out of here fast enough."

It was Dee's turn to shake her head.

"I don't think so. You saw how she handled Jim. You think she's going to let any of you flyboys manipulate her?"

"Greg isn't your everyday flyboy."

Dee looked at her friend again. Kate was laughing, her head thrown back, cheeks flushed with warmth and alcohol. There was something about the way Greg was looking at her that made Dee's heart rate accelerate. She'd watched the man turn on the charm before, been on the receiving end of it a couple of times, but this was different. He wasn't doing it on purpose. It was like a natural attraction had started weaving around him and the girl in his arms, gossamer threads that shimmered amidst the heat and smoke. Dee shook herself back to reality. She'd had too much to drink. She was seeing things.

"Nope. I'm sticking. She's not leaving."

Casey studied the couples on the dance floor.

"Of course," he mused, "if things keep going the way they are now, Greg may decide he likes having her around." He left the sentence open ended and Dee realized he was seeing it too, too, the odd shimmer of light that seemed to wrap around his CO and her best friend. No. Stop it. That was just absurd.

"It would never work. He's too old for her," Dee said promptly.

"How old is she?"

"Same as me, 22."

"Greg's 35 but I don't think that would bother him." He fastened her with a grin. "Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway."

"Casey!" She tried to act shocked.

"Come on, Dee, all the nurses around here are younger than him, except Delmonte. If the man wants any female company, it's gonna be with a girl who isn't his age. And it's sure as hell never stopped him before."

Dee raised her eyebrows and didn't say anything. She was well aware of the Black Sheep leader's reputation. There were two men in this unit who girls didn't say no to. Jim Gutterman was one. Greg Boyington was the other. She couldn't imagine her friend falling into a relationship, either serious or casual, any time soon after what had happened in England. Besides, if she knew Kate, work would be her first priority. Still, she'd watched a lot of nurses' resolve crumble under the power of those blue eyes and that rogue's smile.

She snorted. Her money was still on Kate, she decided loyally.

The song ended. Greg ushered Kate back toward the table. He pulled out a chair for her and she was starting to sit when one of the Navy ensigns stepped up. With a glance, he took in and dismissed both Greg and Casey, focusing on Kate.

"Hey, honey!" His speech was slurred. "Wanna take a spin around the floor with a guy who knows how to wear a uniform?"

Kate's gaze would have frozen a wiser man.

"No. Thank you." She turned away.

"Aww, c'mon sugar," he wheedled. Then, turning to Greg, said, "Mind if I take a turn?"

"She doesn't belong to me." Greg's reply was casual. "She can dance with whoever she wants."

Dee shifted in her chair. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She'd heard that tone before.

"Hear that, honey?" C'mon and let me show you a good time." The Navy uniform was oblivious.

"It's your choice, Cameron. Would you like to dance with this gentleman?" Greg's words were polite but Dee saw the change in his posture, the subtle shift in balance and quiet flexing of his hands. It was a precursor to male violence that she'd grown adept at recognizing from her time in Sheep Pen. With a start, she realized Kate's body language nearly mirrored his. Oh, Lord, some things never change, Dee thought.

"No, Major, I don't believe I would." Kate's voice was cool. "But this gentleman doesn't seem to want to take no for an answer."

The white uniform pressed closer, a sneer on his face.

"My friends and I could show you a real good time. Better than anything these Marines could do."

Kate's eyes narrowed. Casey quietly stood up and pushed his chair out of the way. Dee tensed. Around them, Black Sheep were setting down their drinks and folding their cards.

"I don't waste my time on boys who can't hold their liquor." Kate's tone was ice.

"I think the lady's telling you she's not interested," Greg said.

"I think the lady will be interested when I get done with her." The ensign made a clumsy grab at Kate's arm.

He missed. As if they'd rehearsed it, Kate stepped to the side and Greg caught him with a solid right in the belly. The guy dropped like a stone.

One of his buddies charged to his defense. Kate upended the table in his path. Beer cans went flying as it caught the guy square in the midriff and he went down backward with a whoof of expelled air.

Here we go again, Dee thought. She leaped out of the way as the other two Navy men jumped in, fists swinging. She lashed out with a foot and tripped the first one. Jim appeared out of nowhere and landed a quick one-two punch that sent both him and the white uniform crashing over a nearby table.

Then it was a free-for-all. The nurses squealed and ran. Dee bolted for the bar and dove behind it just as Anderson flew past her, khaki raining blows against white. Furniture cracked and bodies tumbled.

Dee peeked over the bar in time to see Kate step backward into the embrace of the fourth Naval ensign, who began pawing at her clothes. Dee grabbed the stout length of lumber kept behind the bar for such emergencies but before she could reach Kate, she saw her friend bring her booted foot down hard on the man's arch. When he grunted in surprise and released her, she spun around, kneed him in the groin and finished with an elbow to the side of his nose. He toppled silently to the floor.

Across the bar, Black Sheep were laying waste with an almost practiced efficiency. Dee stepped out from behind the bar, on her way toward Kate, when one of the Navy men reeled toward her. She swung her makeshift bat and caught him, unsuspecting, across the chest. He tottered into Bragg, who finished him off, then collapsed onto the floor himself.

Greg was still on his feet. He and French were tag-teaming on the initial offender and all three of them disappeared in a melee of flying fists. The guy Kate had kneed was back on his feet and staggering toward her. She had her back toward him.

"Katie! Look out!" Dee yelled.

Kate spun, dodged out of his way and caught a flying elbow across her mouth from another white-uniformed combatant. Dee winced as her friend hit the floor.

"Are you all right?" Dee shouted. She began edging along the wall to where Kate was scrambling to stay out of the crush of fighting men.

Kate started to answer, then yelled, "Jim! Behind you!"

Jim spun and stopped an ensign's attack with a punch that sent him straight at Greg who caught him, tossed him upright and hit him again.

And then it was over. Four white Navy uniforms crashed through the door and disappeared into the darkness. The door tilted drunkenly on a torn hinge. Dee made her way through the mess of tumbled furniture to Casey, who was helping Anderson to his feet.

"You two all right?" She did a quick appraisal. They were both bleeding from minor lacerations but didn't seem any worse for the wear. They were grinning. In true fashion, these boys didn't seem to be having a good time unless someone was bloody.

"Never better," Casey assured her. "I think I understand what you meant when you said Kate might be more trouble than you are."

"She didn't exactly start that." Dee leaped to her friend's defense. "Greg threw the first punch."

"In her defense," Casey pointed out.

"I think Kate is generally able to defend herself. And now we're back to my earlier point – she's not going to be easy to get rid of." Dee was smug.

A few feet away, Greg extended a hand and pulled Kate to her feet. Her lip was bleeding and one of her shirtsleeves was nearly torn off.

"That's the second time tonight I've had to pick you up off the ground, Cameron," he said. "This is becoming a habit."

Kate gingerly brushed the back of her hand across her lip.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she said, wincing.

Greg pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her split lip.

Jim slung an arm around Kate's shoulders.

"I like you, darlin'. Maybe you won't bunk with me but you're good to have around in a fight."

Dee wrapped one arm around Casey's waist and the other around Kate's. She took in her friend's split lip and torn shirt and Jim's arm around her shoulders. The look on Greg's face was impossible to read.

"You guys know how to make a girl feel welcome." Kate tugged at the tattered remains of her shirtsleeve.

"Sorry," Casey said apologetically. "We're usually not like this."

"He's lying. They're like this all the time," Dee said.

"Cameron, I don't know what they're teaching in journalism school these days but you're a hell of a lot better in a fight than any reporter who's been out here before," Greg said.

"And you're a damned sight better looking," Jim added.

"Welcome to Vella La Cava, Katie," Dee grinned. "You're going to love it here."

"Yeah," Kate said. "I can tell already."

 **THE END**

 _A huge thanks to all the Black Sheep fans for your support and encouragement while I've written these stories. Greg and Kate, Jim and Sarah and Casey and Dee have become like very good friends over the last year. Sharing them with you has been a delight and a privilege._

 _Confession time - I've started a re-write of "Front Page News," which I first posted one year ago, starting in late August of 2015. There are things I'd like to change - different dialogue, new scenes, expanded scenes, that sort of thing. Since the original document is about 90,000 words, that's gonna take a while but the OCD writer in me won't let me rest. I hope to start posting it again, chapter by chapter, this fall._

 _Clear skies,_

 _MW_


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